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THE 


FLAG  OF  DISTRESS 


A    TALE   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA. 


BY 


CAPT.  MAYNE  REED, 

AUTHOR    OP    "THE    HEADLESS    HORSEMAN,"    "OSCEOLA;    OR,    THE 

SEMINOLE  CHIEF,"  "AFLOAT  IN  THE  FOREST,"    "THE  GIRAFFE 

HUNTERS,"   "THE  DESERT  HOME,"  ETC. 


A   NEW   EDITION, 
WITH   A  MEMOIR   BY   R.    H.    STODDARD. 


NEW  YORK 

WORTHINGTON  CO.,  747  BROADWAY 
1890 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

FIELDS,    OSGOOD    &    C*., 

In  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1885,  by 

THOMAS    R.    KNOX    &    CO., 

in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1889,  by 

WORTHINGTON    CO., 

in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


♦     .  .        .    .  t   ,    •  ■»  .New  York,' January  let,  1869. 
Messrs.  Fields,  Os&o©r>  &"Go.:— *'      ••»**•** 

I  accept  the  terms  offered,  and  hereby  concede  to  you  the  exclusive  right 
of  publication,  in  the  United  States,  of  all  my  juvenile  Tales  of  Adventure, 
known  as  Boys'  Novels. 

MAYNE  REID. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co., 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


MEMOIR  ©F  MAYKE  KEID. 


No  one  who  lias  written  books  for  the  young  during  the 
present  century  ever  had  so  large  a  circle  of  readers  as 
Captain  Mayne  Reid,  or  ever  was  so  well  fitted  by  circum* 
stances  to  write  the  books  by  which  lie  is  chiefly  known. 
His  life,  which  was  an  adventurous  one,  was  ripened  with 
the  experience  of  two  Continents,  and  his  temperament 
which  was  an  ardent  one,  reflected  the  traits  of  two  races 
Irish  by  birth,  he  was  American  in  his  sympathies  with 
the  people  of  the  New  World,  whose  acquaintance  he 
jnade  at  an  early  period,  among  whom  he  lived  for  years, 
and  whose  battles  he  helped  to  win.  He  was  probably 
more  familiar  with  the  Southern  and  Western  portion  of 
the  United  States  forty  years  ago  than  any  native-born 
American  of  that  time.  A  curious  interest  attaches  to  the 
life  of  Captain  Reid,  but  it  is  not  of  the  kind  that  casual 
biographers  dwell  upon.  If  he  had  written  it  himself  it 
would  have  charmed  thousands  of  readers,  who  can  now 
merely  imagine  what  it  might  have  been  from  the  glimpses 
of  it  which  they  obtain  in  his  writings.  It  was  not  passed 
in  the  fierce  light  of  publicity,  but  in  that  simple,  silent 
obscurity  which  is  the  lot  of  most  men,  and  is  their  hap- 
piness, if  they  only  knew  it. 

Briefly  related,  the  life  of  Captain  Reid  was  as  follows : 
He  was  born  in  1818,  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  the  son  oi 
a  Presbyterian  clergyman,  who  was  a  type  of  the  class 
which  Goldsmith  has  described  so  freshly  in  the  "  Deserted 
Village,"  and  was  highly  thought  of  for  his  labors  among 
the  poor  of  his  neighborhood.  An  earnest,  reverent  man, 
to  whom  his  calling  was  indeed  a  sacred  one,  he  designed 
his  son  Mayne  for  the  ministry,  in  the  hope,  no  doubt, 
that  he  would  be  his  successor.  But  nature  had  some- 
thing to  say  about  that,  as  well  as  his  good  father.  Ho 
began  to  study  for  the  ministry,  but  it  was  not  long  before 
1 


M12544 


he  was  drawn  in  another  direction.  Alu  ays  -a  great  reader, 
his  favorite  books  were  descriptions  of  travel  in  foreign 
lands,  particularly  those  which  dealt  with  the  scenery, 
the  people,  and  the  resources  of  America.  The  spell  whicli 
these  exercised  over  his  imagination,  joined  to  a  love  ol 
adventure  which  was  inherent  in  his  temperament,  and 
inherited,  perhaps  with  his  race,  determined  his  career. 
At  the  age  of  twenty  he  closed  his  theological  tomes,  and 
girding  up  his  loins  with  a  stout  heart  he  sailed  from  the 
shores  of  the  Old  World  for  the  New.  Following  the 
spirit  in  his  feet  he  landed  at  New  Orleans,  which  was 
probably  a  more  promising  field  for  a  young  man  of  his 
talents  than  any  Northern  city,  and  was  speedily  engaged 
in  business.  The  nature  of  this  business  is  not  stated, 
further  than  it  was  that  of  a  trader ;  but  whatever  it  w^is 
it  obliged  this  young*  Irishman  to  make  long  journeys  into 
the  interior  of  the  country,  which  was  almost  a  t<  rra  in- 
cognita. Sparsely  settled,  where  settled  at  all,  it  was  still 
clothed  in  primeval  verdure — here  in  the  endless  reach  of 
savannas,  there  in  the  depth  of  pathless  woods,  and  far 
away  to  the  North  and  the  West  in  those  monotonous 
ocean-like  levels  of  land  for  which  the  speech  of  England 
has  no  name — the  Prairies.  Its  population  was  nomadic, 
not  to  say  barbaric,  consisting  of  tribes  of  Indians  whose 
hunting  grounds  from  time  immemorial  the  region  was1, 
hunters  and  trappgrs^who  had  turned  their  backs  upon 
civilization  for  the  free,  wild  life  of  nature  ;  men  of 
doubtful  or  dangerous  antecedents,  who  had  found  it  con- 
venient to  leave  their  country  for  their  country's  good  ; 
and  scattered  about  hardy  pioneer  communities  from  East- 
ern States,  advancing  waves  of  the  great  sea  of  emigration 
which  is  still  drawing  the  course  of  empire  westward. 
Travelling  in  a  country  like  this,  and  among  people  like 
these,  Mavne  Reid  passed  five  years  of  his  early  manhood. 
He  was  at  home  wherever  he  went,  and  never  more  so 
than  when  among  the  Indians  of  the  Red  River  territory, 
with  whom  he  spent  several  months,  learning  their  lan- 
guage, studying  their  customs,  and  enjoying  the  wild  and 
beautiful  scenery  of  their  camping  grounds.  Indian  for 
the  time,  he  lived  in  their  lodges,  rode  with  them,  hunted 
with  them,  and  night  after  night  sat  by  their  blazing 
camp-fires  listening  to  the  warlike  stories  of  the  braves 
and  the  quaint  legends  of  the  medicine  men.  There  was 
that  in  the  blood  of  Mavne  Reid  which  fitted  him  to  lead 
this  life  at  *-H»«  «me,  and  whether  he  knew  it  or  not  i$ 
2 


educated  his  genius  as  no  ether  life  conld  have  done.  It 
familiarized  him  with  a  large  extent  of  country  in  the 
South  and  West ;  it  introduced  him  to  men  and  manners 
which  existed  nowhere  else;  and  it  revealed  to  him  the 
secrets  of  Indian  life  and  character. 

There  was  another  side,  however,  to  Mayne  Reid  than 
that  we  have  touched  upon,  and  this,  at  the  end  of  fiv* 
years,  drew  him  back  to  the  average  life  of  his  kind.  We 
find  him  next  in  Philadelphia,  where  he  began  to  con- 
tribute stories  and  sketches  of  travel  to  the  newspapers 
and  magazines.  Philadelphia  was  then  the  most  literate 
city  in  the  United  States,  the  one  in  which  a  clever  writer 
was  at  once  encouraged  and  rewarded.  Frank  and  warm- 
hearted, he  made  many  friends  there  among  journalists 
and  authors.  One  of  these  friends  was  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
whom  he  often  visited  at  his  home  in  Spring  Garden,  and  ( 
concerning  whom  years  after,  when  he  was  dead,  he  wrote 
with  loving  tenderness. 

The  next  episode  in  the  career  of  Mayne  Reid  was  not 
what  one  would  expect  from  a  man  of  letters,  though  it 
fras  just  what  might  have  been  expected  from  a  man  of 
his  temperament  and  antecedents.  It  grew  out  of  the 
time,  which  was  warlike,  and  it  drove  him  into  the  army 
with  which  the  United  States  speedily  crushed  the  forces 
of  the  sister  Republic — Mexico.  He  obtained  a  commis- 
sion, and  served  throughout  the  war  with  great  bravery 
and  distinction.  This  stormy  episode  ended  with  a  severe 
wound,  which  he  received  in  storming  the  heights  of  Cha- 
pultepec — a  terrible  battle  which  practically  ended  the 
war. 

A  second  episode  of  a  similar  character,  but  with  a  more 
fortunate  conclusion,  occurred  about  four  years  later.  It 
grew  out  of  another  war,  which,  happily  for  us,  was  not  oa 
our  borders,  but  in  the  heart  of  Europe,  where  the  Hun- 
garian race  had  risen  in  insurrection  against  the  hated  power 
of  Austria.  Their  desperate  valor  in  the  face  of  tremen- 
dous odds  excited  the  sympathy  of  the  American  people, 
and  fired  the  heart  of  Captain  Mayne  Reid,  who  buckled 
on  his  sword  once  more,  and  sailed  from  New  York  with 
a  body  of  volunteers  to  aid  the  Hungarians  in  their  struggles 
for  independence.  They  were  too  late,  for  hardly  had 
they  reached  Paris  before  they  learned  that  all  was  over*, 
trdrgey  had  surrendered  at  Arad,  and  Hungary  was 
Brushed.  They  were  at  once  dismissed,  and  Captain  Rei<| 
betook  himself  to  London. 

3 


The  life  of  the  Mayne  Heid  in  whom  we  ar«  liost  in- 
terested— Mayne  Reid,  the  author — began  at  this  time, 
when  he  was  in  his  thirty-first  year,  and  ended  only  on 
the  day  of  his  death,  October  21  r  1883.  It  covered  one- 
third  of  a  century,  and  was,  when  compared  with  that 
which  had  preceded  it,  uneventful,  if  not  devoid  of  in- 
cident. There  is  not  much  that  needs  be  told — not  much, 
indeed,  that  can  be  told — in  the  life  of  a  man  of  letters 
like  Captain  Mayne  Reid.  It  is  written  in  his  books. 
Mayne  Reid  was  one  of  the  best  known  authors  of  hi3 
time — differing  in  this  from  many  authors  who  are  popu- 
lar without  being  known — and  in  the  walk  of  fiction  which 
he  discovered  for  himself  he  is  an  acknowledged  mas- 
ter. His  reputation  did  not  depend  upon  the  admiration 
of  the  millions  of  young  people  who  read  his  books,  but 
upon  the  judgment  of  mature  critics,  to  whom  his  delinea- 
tions of  adventurous  life  were  literature  of  no  common 
order.  His  reputation  as  a  story-teller  was  widely  recog- 
nized on  the  Continent,  where  he  was  accepted  as  an 
authority  in  regard  to  the  customs  of  the  pioneers  and  the 
guerilla  warfare  of  the  Indian  tribes,  and  was  warmly 
praised  for  his  freshness,  his  novelty,  and  his  hardy  origi- 
nality. The  people  of  France  and  Germany  delighted  in 
this  soldier-writer.  "  There  was  not  a  word  in  his  hooka 
which  a  school-boy  could  not  safely  read  aloud  to  his 
mother  and  sisters."  So  says  a  late  English  critic,  to  which, 
another  adds,  that  if  he  has  somewhat  gone  out  of  fashion 
of  late  years,  the  more's  the  pity  for  the  school-boy  of  the 
period.  What  Defoe  is  in  Robinson  Crusoe — realistic  idyl 
of  island  solitude — that,  in  his  romantic  stories  of  wilder* 
life,  is  his  great  scholar,  Captain  Mayne  Reid. 

R.  H.  Stoddard, 
4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L  rACW. 

A  Chase ..." 

CHAPTER  IT. 
A  Call  fob  Boabdebs #       .       .    18 

CHAPTER  ILL 
The  Cutteb's  Cbew «    H 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  Black  Squall 39 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  Bbacb  of  Bbitish  Officees .38 

CHAPTER  VL 
A  Paib  of  Spanish  Senobitas 48 

CHAPTER  VH. 
A  Couple  of  Califoenian  "Caballebos"   ....    68 

CHAPTER   VHL 
An  Encounteb  Inevitable 68 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Ship  without  Satlobs 82 

CHAPTER  X. 
A  Chabteb-Pabtt 88 

CHAPTER  XL 

In  Seabch  of  a  Second 98 

8 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XII.                                 paoe 
A  "Paseo  de  Caballo" 104 

CHAPTER  XIIL 
A  "Golpe  de  Caballo"     .  !' 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
"Hasta  Cadiz!"  .  1* 

CHAPTER  XV. 
On  Pleasure  bent       .  .       .  .       .  127 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  Tar  of  ttie  Olden  Tyts 136 

CHAPTER  XVH. 
Unexpected  Visitors  .  143 

CHAPTER  XVni. 
An  Inhospitable  Home .150 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  "Bank"  El  Dorado 166 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A  Monte  Bank  in  Full  Blast 161 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Fighting  the  Tiger 167 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
A  Plucky  "Sport" 173 

CHAPTER  XXin. 
A  Supper  Carte-Blanche 177 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Harry  Blew  Homeless 184 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Crusaders  to  the  Rescue 193 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
In  Flight       ....  199 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER  XXVH.  page. 

A  Conversation  with  Orangs.       .       .       ,  .  210 

CHAPTER  XXYin. 
The  Blue-Peter 217 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
Dreading  a  Duel .222 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
The  Last  Look     .       .  .......  229 

CE,      >ER  XXXL 
A-  Solemn  Compact 236 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 
Ambre  la  Puerta!" 245 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
A  Scratch  Crew 252 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
"Adios,  California!" .  257 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
A  Tattoo  that  needs  retouching  .  ...  263 

CHAPTER  XXXVl. 
A  Crew  that  means  Mutiny    ....  .       .  270 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Two  "Sydney  Ducks" .  276 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
Plot  upon  Plot 288 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 
Share  and  Share  alike 295 

CHAPTER  XL, 
"Land  Ho!" 303 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
Panama,  or  Santiago?       .....  :  311 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XLTT.  PAGB. 

The  Dreaded  Ttntoreras  ....  .       .       .  313 

CHAPTER  XLTII. 
The  Bark  abandoned  •  328 

CHAPTER  XLTV. 
Two  Tarqudxs •  333 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

OCEANWARDS    ...  .  343 

CHAi*fER  XLVI. 
An  Awkward  Question 348 

CHAPTER  XLVTI. 
A  Duel  adjourned     .  .       .  ....  359 

CHAPTER  XLVHL 
Long  Suffering   ,       .       .        ,       ,       ,       ,       ,       ,       ,  363 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 
A  Card  unexpectedly  recovered 369 

CHAPTER  L. 
The  Last  Leaf  in  the  Log 374 

CHAPTER  LI. 
Starvation  Point .381 

CHAPTER  LH. 
An  Avenging  Nemesis 384 

CHAPTER  LELL 
The  Tables  nearly  turned    .       .       ,       .       «       .       ,391 

CHAPTER  LIT. 
A  Sailor's  Trotj  Yarn 101 


• 


THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A    CHASE. 


IN  mid-ocean, — the  Pacific.  Two  ships  are  within 
sight  of  one  another,  less  than  a  league  apart. 
Both  are  sailing  before  the  wind,  running  dead  down  it, 
with  full  canvas  spread ;  not  side  by  side,  but  one  in 
the  wake  of  the  other. 

Is  it  a  chase  ?  To  all  appearance  it  is  ;  a  probabil- 
ity strengthened  by  the  relative  size  and  character  of 
the  ships.  One  is  a  bark,  polacca-masted,  her  masts 
raking  back  with  the  acute  shark' s-fin  set  supposed  to 
be  characteristic  of  the  pirate.  The  other  is  a  ship, 
square  rigged  and  full  sized  ;  a  row  of  real,  not  painted 
ports,  with  a  gun  grinning  out  of  each,  proclaiming 
her  a  man-of-war.  She  is  one,  —  a  frigate,  as  an}'  sea- 
man would  say,  after  giving  her  a  glance,  And  any 
landsman  might  name  her  nationalit}'.  The  flag  at  her 
peak  is  one  known  all  over  the  world :  it  is  the  "Union 
Jack"  of  England. 

If   it  be  a  chase,  she   is  the  pursuer.     Her  col  org 

7 


8  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

might  be  accepted  as  surety  of  this,  without  regard  to 
the  relative  position  ,of  the  vessels,  which  show  the 
frigate  astern,  the  polices  leading. 

The  latter  also  carries  a  flag,  of  nationality  not  sc 
easily  determined.  Still  is  it  the  ensign  of  a  naval 
power,  though  one  of  little  note.  The  five-pointed 
white  star,  solitaiy  in  a  blue  field,  proclaims  it  the 
standard  of  Chili. 

Wiry  should  an  English  frigate  be  chasing  a  Chilian 
bark?  There  is  no  war  between  Great  Britain  and 
Chili,  the  most  prosperous  of  the  South  American 
republics ;  instead,  peace-treaties,  with  relations  of 
the  most  amicable  kind.  Were  the  polacca  flying  a 
flag  of  blood-red  or  black,  with  death's-head  and 
cross-bones,  the  chase  would  be  intelligible.  But  the 
bit  of  bunting  at  her  masthead  shows  nothing  on  its 
field,  either  of  menace  or  defiance.  On  the  contrar}T,  it 
appeals  to  pit}T,  and  asks  for  aid ;  for  it  is  an  ensign 
reversed,  —  in  short,  a  signal  of  distress. 

And  yet  the  ship  showing  it  is  scudding  before  a 
stiff  breeze,  with  all  sail  set,  stays  taut,  not  a  rope  out 
of  place  !  Strange  this.  Just  the  thought  of  every 
one  aboard  the  man-of-war,  from  the  captain  com- 
manding to  the  latest  joined  "  lubber  of  a  landsman," 
—  a  thought  that  has  been  in  their  minds  ever  since  the 
chase  commenced. 

For  it  is  a  chase ;  that  is,  the  frigate  has  sighted 
f  sail,  and  stood  towards  it.  This  without  changing 
course,  as,  when  first  espied,  the  stranger,  rike  herself, 
was  running  before  the  wind.  If  slowly,  the  frigate 
has  been  gradually  forging  nearer  the  pursued  vessel ; 
till  at  length  the  telescope  tells  her  to  be  a  bark, 
revealing,  also,  the  ensign  reversed. 

Nothing  strange  in  this,  of  itself — unfortunately,  a 


A   STORY   OF  £HE   SOUTH   SEA.  9 

si ght  too  common  at  sea.  But  that  a  vessel  display- 
ing signals  of  distress  should  be  earning  all  sail,  and 
running  away,  or  attempting  to  run  away,  from  another 
making  to  relieve  her,  above  all,  from  a  ship  bearing 
the  British  flag,  —  this  is  strange.  And  just  thus 
lias  the  polacca  been  acting,  still  is,  —  sailing  on  down 
the  wind,  without  slacking  halyards,  or  lessening  her 
spread  of  canvas  by  a  single  inch.  Certainly  her 
behavior  is  unaccountable,  more  than  strange :  it  is 
mysterious. 

To  this  conclusion  have  the}7  come  on  board  the  war- 
ship, and  naturally  enough ;  for  there  is  that  which 
has  imbued  thsir  thoughts  with  a  tinge  of  superstition. 
In  addition  to  what  the}7  see,  they  have  something 
heard.  Within  the  week  the}' have  spoken  two  vessels, 
both  of  which  reported  this  same  bark,  or  one  answer- 
ing her  description, — "  Polacca-masted,  all  sail  set, 
ensign  reversed." 

A  British  brig,  which  the  frigate's  boat  had  boarded, 
said  that  such  a  craft  had  run  across  her  bows  so 
close,  they  could  have  thrown  a  rope  to  her ;  that  at 
first  no  one  was  seen  aboard,  but,  on  being  hailed,  two 
men  made  appearance,  both  springing  up  to  the  main 
shrouds,  thence  answering  the  hail  in  a  language  alto- 
gether unintelligible,  and  with  hoarse  croaking  voices 
that  resembled  the  barking  of  muzzled  mastiffs. 

It  was  late  twilight,  almost  night,  when  this 
occurred ;  but  the  brig's  people  could  make  out  the 
figures  of  the  men  as  they  clung  on  to  the  ratlines. 
And  what  surprised  them  equally  with  the  odd  speech, 
•vas,  that  both  appeared  to  be  clothed  in  skin-dresses, 
covering  their  bodies  from  head  to  foot.  Seeing  the 
signal  of  distress,  the  brig  would  have  sent  her  boat 
aboard ;  but  the  bar!:  gave  no  chance  for  this,  keeping 


10  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

on  without  slacking  sail,  or  showing  any  other  sign  of 
a  wish  to  communicate. 

Standing  by  itself,  the  tale  of  the  brig's  crew  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  sailor's  yarn  ;  and,  as  they  admit- 
ted it  to  be  "  almost  night,"  the  obscurity  would 
account  for  the  skin-clothing.  But  coupled  with  the 
report  of  another  vessel,  which  the  frigate  had  since 
spoken,  —  a  whaler,  —  it  seemed  to  receive  full  corrob- 
oration. The  words  sent  through  the  whaler's  trumpet 
were,  "Bark  sighted:  latitude  10.22  S.  ;  longitude 
95  W.  Polacca-masted.  All  sail  set.  Ensign  reversed. 
Chilian.  Men  seen  on  board  covered  with  red  hair, 
supposed  skin-dresses.  Tried  to  come  up,  but  could 
not.     Bark  a  fast  sailer.     Went  awa}r  down  wind." 

Already  in  receipt  of  such  intelligence,  it  is  no  won- 
der that  the  frigate's  crew  feel  something  more  than 
mere  surprise  at  sight  of  a  vessel  corresponding  to 
that  about  which  these  strange  tales  have  been  told. 
For  they  are  now  near  enough  the  bark  to  see  that 
she  answers  the  description  given:  "Polacca-masted. 
All  sail  set.     Ensign  reversed.     Chilian." 

And  her  behavior  is  as  reported,  —  sailing  away  from 
those  who  wish  to  answer  her  appealing  signal,  to  all 
appearance  endeavoring  to  shun  them.  Only  now  has 
the  chase  in  reality  commenced.  Hitherto  the  frigate 
was  but  keeping  her  own  course.  But  the  signal  of 
distress,  just  sighted  through  the  telescope,  has  drawn 
her  on  ;  and,  with  canvas  crowded,  she  steers  straight 
for  the  polacca.  The  latter  is  unquestionably  a  fasi 
sailer ;  but,  although  too  swift  for  the  whaler,  she  is 
not  a  match  for  the  man-of-war.  Still  she  is  no  tub ; 
and  the  chase  is  likely  to  be  a  long  one. 

As  it  continues,  and  the  distance  does  not  appear 
very  much,  or  very  rapidly,  diminishing,  the  fiigate'i 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  11 

crew  begin  to  doubt  whether  the  strange  craft  will  evei 
be  overtaken.  On  the  foredeck  the  tars  stand  in 
groups,  mingled  with  marines,  their  e}~es  bent  upon 
the  retreating  bark,  pronouncing  their  comments  in 
muttered  tones,  manj*  of  the  men  with  brows  o'ercast ; 
for  a  fancy  has  sprung  up  around  the  forecastle,  tmu 
the  chased  ship  is  no  ship  at  all,  but  a  phantom.  This 
fancy  is  gradually  growing  into  a  belief;  faster  as  they 
draw  nearer,  and  with  naked  eye  note  her  correspond- 
ence with  the  reports  of  the  spoken  vessels. 

The}r  have  not  3-et  seen  the  skin-clad  men  —  if  men 
they  be.  More  like,  imagine  some,  they  will  prove  to 
be  spectres. 

While  on  the  quarter-deck  there  is  no  such  supersti- 
tious fancy :  a  feeling  almost  as  intense  agitates  the 
minds  of  those  there  assembled.  The  captain,  sur- 
rounded b}T  his  officers,  stands,  glass  in  hand,  gazing  at 
the  sail  ahead.  The  frigate,  though  a  fine  vessel,  is 
not  one  of  the  fastest  sailers  ;  else  she  might  long  ago 
have  lapped  upon  the  polacca.  Still  has  she  been 
gradually  gaining,  and  is  now  less  than  a  league  astern. 
But  the  breeze  has  been  also  gradually  declining,  which 
is  against  her  ;  and  for  the  last  half-hour  she  has  barely 
preserved  her  distance  from  the  bark. 

To  compensate  for  this,  she  runs  out  studding-sails 
on  all  her  yards,  even  to  the  i'03-als,  and  again  makes 
an  effort  to  bring  the  chase  to  a  termination.  But 
again  is  there  disappointment. 

"  To  no  purpose,  now,"  says  her  commander,  as  he 
sees  his  last  sail  set.  Then  adding,  as  he  casts  a 
glance  at  the  sky,  sternwards,  "  The  wind's  going 
down.     In  ten  minutes  more  we'll  be  becalmed." 

Those  around  need  not  to  be  told  this.  The  young- 
est reefer  there,  looking  at  sky  and  sea,  can  forecast 
'■he  calm. 


12 


THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 


In  five  minutes  after,  the  frigate's  sails  are  Capping 
rtgainst  the  masts,  and  her  flag  hangs  half  folded. 

In  five  more,  the  sails  only  show  motion  by  an 
occasional  clout ;  while  the  bunting  droops  dead  down- 
ward. 

Within  the  ten,  as  foei  captain  predicted,  the  huge 
war-ship,  despite  her  extended  canvas,  lies  motionless 
on  the  sea. 


A  STOBY  OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  13 


CHAPTER    II. 

A    CALL    FOR    BOARDER  8. 

THE  frigate  is  becalmed :  what  of  the  bark  ? 
Has  she  been  similarly  checked  in  her  course? 
The  question  is  asked  b}~  all  on  board  the  war-ship, 
each  seeking  the  answer  for  himself;  for  all  are  ear- 
nestly gazing  at  the  strange  sail,  regardless  of  their 
own  condition. 

Forward,  the  superstitious  thought  has  become  inten- 
sified into  something  like  fear.  A  calm  coming  on  so 
suddenly,  just  when  they  had  hopes  of  soon  overhaul- 
ing the  chased  vessel  —  what  could  that  mean  ?  Old 
sailors  shake  their  heads,  refusing  to  make  answer ; 
while  young  ones,  less  cautious  of  speech,  boldly  pro- 
nounce the  polacca  a  spectre.  The  legends  of  the 
Phantom  Ship  and  Flying  Dutchman  are  in  their 
thoughts  and  on  their  lips,  as  they  stand  straining 
their  eyes  after  the  still  receding  vessel ;  for  beyond 
doubt  does  she  sail  on  with  waves  rippling  around  her. 

"  As  I  told  ye,  mates  !  "  remarks  an  old  tar :  "  we'd 
never  catch  up  with  that  craft  —  not  if  we  stood  after 
her  till  doomsday.  And  doomsday  it  might  be  for  us, 
if  we  did." 

"I  hope  she'll  keep  on,  and  leave  us  a  good  spell 
behind,"  rejoins  a  second.  "It  was  a  foolish  thing 
followin'  her;  and,  for  my  part,  I'll  be^glad  if  we 
never  do  catch  up  with  her." 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  about  that,"  says  the  fiis* 
2 


i4  THE  FLAG   OF  DIS'IRESS. 

speaker.  "Just  look!  She's  making  way  yet!  1 
believe  she  can  sail  as  well  without  wind  as  with  it." 

Scarce  are  the  words  spoken,  when,  as  if  to  contra- 
dict them,  the  sails  of  the  chased  vessel  commence 
denting  against  her  masts  ;  while  her  flag  falls  folded, 
and  is  no  longer  distinguishable  as  a  signal  of  distress, 
or  aught  else.  The  breeze  that  failed  the  frigate  is 
now  also  dead  around  the  bark,  which,  in  like  manner, 
has  been  caught  in  the  calm. 

"  What  do  3Tou  make  her  out,  Mr.  Black  ?"  asks 
the  frigate's  captain  of  his  first,  ai  the  two  stand  look- 
ing through  their  levelled  glasses. 

"  Not  any  thing,  sir,"  replies  the  lieutenant,  "  ex- 
cept that  she  should  be  Chilian  from  her  colors.  I 
can't  see  a  soul  aboard  of  her.  Ah,  3-onder !  Some- 
thing shows  over  the  taffrail !  Looks  like  a  man's 
head?    It's  ducked  suddenly." 

A  short  silence  succeeds,  the  commanding  officer 
busied  with  his  binocular,  endeavoring  to  catch  sight 
of  the  thing  seen  by  his  subordinate.  It  does  not  show 
again. 

"  Odd,"  says  the  captain,  resuming  speech,  "  a  ship 
running  up  signals  of  distress,  at  the  same  time  refus- 
ing to  be  relieved  —  very  odd  !  Isn't  it,  gentlemen?  " 
ne  asks,  addressing  himself  to  the  group  of  officers 
now  gathered  around. 

Unanimous  assent  to  his  interrogatory. 

"There  must  be  something  amiss,"  he  continues. 
44  Can  any  of  3*ou  think  what  it  is?  " 

To  this  there  is  a  negative  response.  Lieutenants 
and  midshipmen  seem  all  as  puzzled  as  himself,  m}'sti- 
fied  by  the  strange  bark,  and  more  by  her  strange 
behavior. 

There  are  two  who  have  thoughts  different  from  the 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  1£ 

rest,  —  the  third  lieutenant,  and  one  of  the  midshipmen, 
—less  thoughts  than  imaginings,  and  these  so  vague, 
that  neither  communicates  them  to  the  captain,  nor  to 
one  another.  And,  whatever  their  fancies,  they  do  not 
appear  pleasant  ones,  since  on  the  faces  of  both  is  an 
expression  of  something  like  anxiety.  Slight,  and 
scarcely  observable,  it  is  not  noticed  b}T  their  comrades 
standing  around.  It  seems  to  deepen  while  they  con- 
tinue to  gaze  at  the  becalmed  bark,  as  though  due  to 
something  seen  there.  Still  the}'  remain  silent,  keep- 
ing the  dark  thought,  if  such  it  be,  to  themselves. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  says  the  commanding  officer  to 
his  assembled  subordinates,  "  I  must  say  this  is  singu- 
lar. In  all  my  experience  at  sea,  I  don't  remember 
any  thing  like  it.  What  trick  the  Chilian  bark  —  if 
she  be  Chilian  —  is  up  to,  I  can't  guess,  not  for  the 
life  of  me.  It  cannot  be  a  case  of  pirac}'.  The  craft 
has  no  guns  ;  and,  if  she  had,  she  appears  without  men 
to  handle  them.  It's  a  riddle  all  round:  to  get  the 
reading  of  it,  we'll  have  to  send  a  boat  to  her." 

"I  don't  think  we'll  get  a  very  willing  crew,  sir," 
sa}'s  the  first  lieutenant  suggestively.  "Forward, 
they're  quite  superstitious  about  the  character  of  the 
chase.  Some  of  them  fancy  her  the  Flying  Dutchman. 
When  the  boatswain  pipes  for  boarders,  the3^'ll  very 
likely  feel  as  if  his  whistle  were  a  signal  for  them  to 
ralk  the  plank." 

The  remark  causes  the  captain  to  smile,  as  the  other 
officers ;  though  two  of  the  latter  abstain  from  this 
exhibition  of  merriment.  These  are  the  third  lieuten- 
ant and  midshipman,  —  already  mentioned,  —  on  both 
of  whose  brows  the  cloud  still  sits,  seeming  darker 
than  ever. 

"Isn't  it  strange,"    continue?  the  commander  mus* 


16  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTBESS. 

ragly,  "  that  3Tour  genuine  British  tar,  who  will  board 
an  enemy's  ship,  crawling  across  the  muzzle  of  a 
shot  tec  gun ;  who  has  no  fear  of  death  in  human 
shape  ••-will  act  like  a  scared  child  when  it  threatens 
liim  in  the  guise  of  his  satanic  majesty  ?  I  have  no 
doubt,  as  you  say,  Mr.  Black,  that  those  fellows  by 
the  forecastle  are  a  bit  shy  about  boarding  this  strange 
vessel.  But  let  me  show  you  how  to  send  their  shy- 
ness adrift.     I  shall  do  that  with  a  single  word." 

The  captain  steps  forward,  his  subordinates  following 
him.  When  within  speaking-distance  of  the  foredeck, 
he  stops,  and  makes  sign  that  he  has  something  to  say. 
The  tars  are  all  attention. 

"My  lads!"  he  exclaims,  "you  see  that  bark 
we've  been  chasing,  and  at  her  masthead  a  flag  re- 
versed, which  you  know  to  be  a  signal  of  distress? 
That  is  a  call  never  to  be  disregarded  03*  an  English 
ship,  much  less  an  English  man-of-war.  Lieutenant, 
order  a  boat  to  be  lowered,  and  let  the  boatswain  pipe 
for  boarders.  Only  volunteers  will  be  taken.  Those 
who  wish  to  go  will  muster  on  the  main-deck." 

A  loud  "hurrah!"  responds  to  the  appeal;  and, 
while  its  echoes  are  still  resounding  through  the  ship, 
the  whole  crew  seems  crowding  towards  the  main-deck. 
Scores  of  volunteers  present  themselves,  enough  to 
m;an  every  boat  aboard. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  says  the  captain,  turning  to  his 
officers  with  a  proud  expression  on  his  countenance, 
"  there's  the  British  sailor  for  3*011 !  I've  said  he  fears 
not  man  ;  and  when  humanity  makes  call,  as  3*ou  see. 
neither  is  he  frightened  at  a  fancied  ghost." 

A  second  cheer  succeeds  the  speech,  mingled  witl 
O^od -humored  remarks,  though  not  any  loud  laughter. 
The  sailors  simply  acknowledge  the   jompliment  thei? 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  17 

commanding  officer  has  paid  them,  at  the  same  4ime 
feel'ng  that  the  moment  is  too  solemn  for  merriment', 
for  their  instinct  of  humanity  is  yet  under  control  of 
the  weird  feeling.  As  the  captain  turns  aft  to  the 
quarter,  many  of  them  fall  away  toward  the  fore-deck, 
till  the  group  of  volunteers  for  bearding  has  got  great- 
ly diminished.  Still  are  there  enough  to  man  the 
largest  boat  in  the  ship.  . 

"  What  boat  is  it  to  be,  sir?" 

This  question  is  asked  bjT  the  first  lieutenant,  as  he 
follows  the  captain  aft. 

"  The  cutter,"  answers  his  superior,  adding,  "I 
think,  Mr.  Black,  there's  no  necessity  for  sending  any 
other.  The  cutter's  crew  will  be  sufficient.  As  to 
any  hostility  from  those  on  board  the  stranger,  that  is 
absurd.  "We  could  blow  them  out  of  the  water  with  a 
single  broadside." 

"  Who's  to  command  the  cutter,  sir?" 

The  captain  reflects,  with  a  look  sent  inquiringly 
around.  His  eye  falls  upon  the  third  lieutenant,  who 
stands  near,  seemingly  courting  the  glance.  It  is 
short  and  decisive.  The  captain  knows  his  third 
officer  to  be  a  thorough  seamen  ;  though  j'oung,  capable 
of  any  duty,  however  delicate  or  dangerous.  Without 
further  hesitation,  he  assigns  him  to  the  command  of 
the  boarders. 

The  young  officer  enters  upon  the  service  with 
alacrity,  —  something  more  than  the  meie  obedience 
due  to  discipline.  He  hastens  to  the  ship's  side  to 
superintend  the  lowering  of  the  boat.  He  does  not 
stand  at  rest,  but  is  seen  to  help  and  hurry  it,  with  a 
look  of  anxious  impatience  in  his  eye,  and  the  cloud 
still  observable  on  his  brow.  While  thus  occupied,  he 
is  accosted  by  another  officer,  one  yet  younger  than 
himself,  —  the  midshipman  already  mentioned. 


18  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Can  I  go  with  3Tou?  '    the  latter  asks. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow,"  responds  the  lieuten 
ant  in  friendly  familiar  tone.  "  I  shall  be  only  toe 
pleased  to  have  yon.  But  you  must  get  the  captain's 
consent." 

The  young  officer  glides  aft,  sees  the  frigate's  com- 
mander upon  the  quarter-deck,  and,  saluting,  saj's, 
"  Captain,  may  I  go  with  the  cutter?  " 

"  Well,  yea,"  responds  the  chief.  "  I  have  no 
objection."  Then,  after  taking  a  survey  of  the  young- 
ster, he  adds,  u  Why  do  3*011  want  it?  " 

The  youth  blushes,  without  replying.  There  is  a 
cast  upon  his  countenance  that  strikes  the  questioner, 
somewhat  puzzling  him.  But  there  is  no  time  either 
for  further  inquiry  or  reflection.  The  cutter  is  already 
lowered,  and  rests  upon  the  water.  Her  crew  is  crowd- 
ing into  her ;  and  she  will  soon  be  shoved  off  from 
the  ship. 

"  You  can  go,  lad,"  assents  the  captain.  "  Report 
yourself  to  the  third  lieutenant,  and  tell  him  I've  given 
you  leave.  You're  young,  and,  like  all  youngsters, 
ambitious  of  gaining  glory.  Well,  in  this  affair  you 
won't  have  much  chance,  I  take  it.  It's  simply  boaid- 
ing  a  ship  in  distress,  where  you'll  be  more  likery  to  be 
a  spectator  of  scenes  of  suffering.  However,  that  will 
be  a  lesson  for  3-011,  and  therefore  you  may  go." 

Thus  authorized,  the  3Toung  reefer  glides  a^ray  from 
the  quarter-deck,  drops  down  into  the  boat,  and  take? 
his  seat  alongside  the  lieutenant,  already  there. 

The  two  ships  still  lie  becalmed,  in  the  same  relative 
position  to  one  another,  having  changed  from  it  scarce 
a  cable's  length,  and  stem  to  stern,  just  as  the  last 
breath  of  the  breeze,  blown  gentty  against  their  sails, 
forsook  thorn. 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  19 

On  both  the  canvas  is  still  spread,  though  not 
bellied.  It  hangs  limp  and  loose,  giving  an  occasional 
flap,  so  feeble  as  to  show  that  it  proceeds,  not  from 
any  stir  in  the  air,  but  the  mere  balancing  motion  of 
the  vessels;  for  there  is  now  not  enough  breeze  blow- 
ing to  flout  the  long  feathers  in  the  tail  of  the  tropic 
bird  seen  soaring  aloft. 

Both  ships  are  motionless,  their  forms  reflected  in 
the  water,  so  that  each  has  its  counterpart,  keel  to 
keel. 

Between  them,  the  sea  is  smooth  as  a  mirror,  —  that 
tranquil  calm  which  has  given  to  the  Pacific  its  dis- 
tinctive appellation.  It  is  now  to  be  disturbed,  fur- 
rowed by  the  bow  of  the  cutter,  with  her  stroke  of  ten 
oars,  five  on  each  side.  Almost  as  soon  as  down  from 
the  davits,  her  crew  seated  on  the  thwarts,  and  her 
cockswain  at  the  tiller,  the  lieutenant  gives  the  com- 
mand to  "  shove  off."  Parting  from  the  frigate's 
beam,  the  boat  is  steered  straight  for  the  becalmed 
bark. 

On  board  the  man-of-war,  all  stand  watching  her, 
their  eyes  at  intervals  directed  towards  the  strange 
vessel.  From  the  frigate's  forward-deck,  the  men 
have  an  unobstructed  view,  especially  those  clustering 
around  the  head.  Still  there  is  nearly  a  league 
between  ;  and  with  the  naked  e}re  this  hinders  minute 
ODservation.  They  can  but  see  the  white-spread  sails, 
and  the  black  hull  underneath  them.  With  a  glass,  the 
flag,  now  fallen,  is  just  distinguishable  from  the  mast, 
along  which  it  clings  closely.  The}r  can  perceive  that 
its  color  is  <,rimson  above,  with  blue  and  white  under- 
neath, —  the  reversed  order  of  the  Chilian  ensign.  Its 
sirgle  star  is  no  longer  visible,  nor  aught  of  its  herald- 
ry, that  spoke  so  appealingly.     But,  if  the  sight  fails 


20  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

to  furnish  them  with  details,  these  are  amply  supplied 
by  their  excited  imaginations.  Some  of  them  see  men 
aboard  the  bark  —  scores,  hundreds  !  After  all,  she 
may  be  a  pirate,  and  the  upside-down  ensign  a  decoy, 
On  a  tack,»she  may  be  a  swifter  sailer  than  she  has 
shown  herself  before  the  wind,  and,  knowing  this,  has 
been  but  plaj'ing  with  the  frigate.  If  so,  God  help 
the  cutter's  crew ! 

Besides  these  conjectures  of  the  common  kind,  there 
are  those  on  the  frigate's  fore-deck,  who,  in  truth, 
fanc}T  the  polacca  a  spectre.  As  they  continue  gazing, 
now  at  the  boat,  now  at  the  bark,  they  expect  every 
moment  to  see  the  one  sink  beneath  the  sea,  and  the 
other  sail  off,  or  melt  into  invisible  air. 

On  the  quarter,  speculation  is  equally  rife,  though 
running  in  a  different  channel.  There  the  captain  still 
stands  surrounded  by  his  officers,  each  with  glass  to 
his  eye,  levelled  upon  the  strange  craft.  But  they  see 
nought  to  give  them  a  clew  to  her  character  ;  only  the 
loose-spread  sails,  and  the  furled  flag  of  distress. 
They  continue  gazing  till  the  cutter  is  close  to  the 
bark's  beam.  Nor  yet  can  they  observe  any  head 
above  the  bulwarks,  or  face  peering  through  the  shrouds. 
The  fancy  of  the  forecastle  has  crept  aft  among  the 
officers.  They,  too,  begin  to  feel  something  of  super- 
stitious fear,  an  awe  of  the  uncanny. 


A  STORY   OF   THE  SOUTH   SEA  23 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    CUTTER'S    CREW. 

MANNED  by  ten  stout  tars,  with  as  many  or,rs 
propelling  her,  the  cutter  cleaves  the  water  like 
a  knife.  The  lieutenant,  seated  in  the  stern-sheets, 
with  the  mid  by  his  side,  directs  the  movements  of  the 
boat ;  while  the  glances  of  both  are  kept  constantly 
upon  the  bark.  In  their  e}-es  is  an  earnest  expression, 
quite  different  from  that  of  ordinary  interrogation. 

The  men  ma3T  not  observe  it :  if  they  do,  it  is  t,  ith- 
out  comprehension  of  its  meaning.  They  can  but 
think  of  it  as  resembling  their  own,  and  proceeding 
from  a  like  cause.  For,  although  with  backs  turned 
towards  the  bark,  they  cast  occasional  glances  over 
their  shoulders,  in  which  curiosity  is  commingled  with 
apprehension. 

Despite  theii  natural  courage,  strengthened  by  the 
late  appeal  to  their  humanity,  the  awe  is  again  upon 
them.  Insidiously  returning  as  they  took  their  seats 
in  the  boat,  it  increases  as  they  row  farther  from  the 
ship,  and  nearer  to  the  strange  vessel.  Less  than  half 
in  hour  has  elapsed,  and  they  are  within  a  cable's 
length  of  the  latter. 

"  Hold,  now  !  "  commands  the  lieutenant 

The  oar-stroke  is  instantly  suspended,  and  the  blades 
held  aloft.  The  boat  gradually  loses  way,  and  at 
length  rests  station sltj  on  the  tranquil  water. 

All  eyes  are  bent  upon  the  bark.    Glances  go  search- 


22  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTKESS. 

mgly  along  her  bulwarks,  from  poop  to  piow.  £ta 
preparations  to  receive  them !  No  ono  appears  on 
deck,  —  not  a  head  seen  over  the  rail ! 

"  Bark,  ahoy !  "  hails  the  lieutenant. 

"Bark,  atuyv ! "  is  heard  in  fainter  tone.  It  is  no 
answer ;  only  the  echo  of  the  officer's  voice,  coming 
back  from  the  hollow  timbers  of  the  becalmed  vessel. 
There  is  again  silence,  more  profound  than  ever ;  for 
the  sailors  in  the  boat  have  ceased  talking,  their  awe, 
now  intense,  holding  them  speechless. 

"Bark,  ahoy!"  again  shouts  the  lieutenant,  louder 
than  before,  but  with  like  result.  As  before,  he  is 
only  answered  by  echo.  There  is  either  nobotfv 
aboard,  or  no  one  who  thinks  it  worth  while  to  make 
rejoinder.  The  first  supposition  seems  absurd,  look- 
ing at  the  sail ;  the  second,  equally  so,  regarding  the 
flag  at  the  main  royal  masthead,  and  taking  into 
account  its  character.  A  third  hail  from  the  officer, 
this  time  vociferated  in  loudest  voice,  with  the  inter- 
rogatory added,  "Any  one  aboard?" 

To  the  question  no  reply,  any  more  than  to  the  hail. 
Silence  continues,  —  stillness  intense,  awe-inspiring. 
They  in  the  boat  begin  to  doubt  the  evidence  of  their 
senses.  Is  there  a  bark  before  their  e}-es?  Or  is  it 
all  an  illusion  ?  How  can  a  vessel  be  under  sad  —  full 
sail  —  without  sailors  ?  And,  if  any,  why  do  they  not 
show  at  her  side  ?  Why  have  they  not  answered  the 
hail  thrice  shouted,  the  last  time  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  within  her  hold?  It  should  have  awakened  hex 
crew,  even  if  asleep  in  the  forecastle. 

"  Give  way  again!  "  cries  the  lieutenant.  "  Bring 
up  on  the  starboard  side,  cockswain,  under  the  fore- 
chains." 

The  oars  are  dipped,  and  the  cutter  moves  on.     Bui 


A  STOBY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  23 

scarce  is  she  in  motion,  when  once  more  the  officer 
commands,  "  Hold  !  " 

With  his  voice  mingle  others,  coming  from  the  bark. 
Her  people  seem  at  length  to  have  become  aroused 
from  then*  sleep,  or  stupor.  A  noise  is  heard  upon  her 
deck,  as  of  a  scuffle,  accompanied  b}T  cries  of  strange 
intonation.  Soon  two  heads,  apparently  human,  show 
above  the  bulwarks  ;  two  faces  flesh  colored,  and  thinly 
covered  with  hair.  Then  the  whole  bodies  appear, 
also  human  like,  save  that  they  are  hairy  all  over,  — > 
hair  of  a  foxy  red.  The}'  swarm  up  the  shrouds,  and, 
clutching  the  ratlines,  shake  them  with  quick  violent 
jerks  ;  at  the  same  time  uttering  what  appears  angry 
speech,  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  harsh  voice,  as  if 
chiding  off  the  intruders.  O11I3"  a  short  way  up  the 
shrouds,  just  as  far  as  they  could  spring  from  the  deck, 
and  only  staying  a  little  while  there  ;  then  they  drop 
down  again,  disappearing  as  abruptly  as  they  had 
shown  themselves. 

The  lieutenant's  command  was  a  word  thrown  away. 
Without  it,  the  men  would  have  discontinued  their 
stroke.  They  have  done  so,  and  sit  with  bated  breath, 
ej^es  strained,  ears  listening,  and  lips  mute,  as  if  all 
had  been  suddenly  and  simultaneously  struck  dumb. 
Silence  throughout  the  boat,  silence  aboard  the  bark, 
silence  everywhere ;  the  only  sound  heard  being  the. 
"  drip-drop  "  of  the  water  as  it  falls  from  the  feathered 
oar-blades. 

For  a  time  the  cutter's  crew  remain  speechless,  not 
one  essaying  to  speak  a  word.  They  are  so,  less  from 
surprise  than  sheer  stark  terror.  It  is  depicted  on 
their  faces,  and  no  wonder  it  should.  What  they  have 
just  seen  is  sufficient  to  terrify  the  stoutest  hearts,  even 
those  of  tried  tars,  as  all  of  them  are.    A  whip  manned 


24  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

by  hairy  men — a  crew  of  veritable  Orsons  !  Certainly, 
enough  to  startle  the  most  phlegmatic,  mariner,  and 
make  him  tremble  as  he  tugs  at  the  oar.  But  they 
have  ceased  tugging  at  their  oars,  and  hold  them, 
blades  suspended,  along  with  their  breath.  One  alone 
musters  sufficient  courage  to  mutter  out,  "  Gracious 
goodness  !     Shipmates,  what  can  it  mean?  " 

He  receives  no  answer,  though  the  silence  comes  to 
an  end.  It  is  broken  by  the  voice  of  the  lieutenant, 
and  also  that  of  the  junior  officer.  They  do  not  speak 
simultaneously,  but  one  after  the  other.  The  supersti 
tious  fear  pervading  the  minds  of  the  men  does  not 
extend  to  them.  They,  too,  have  their  fears,  but  of  a 
different  kind,  and  from  a  different  cause.  As  yet, 
neither  has  communicated  to  the  other  what  he  himself 
has  been  thinking,  the  thoughts  of  both  being  hitherto 
vague,  but  every  moment  becoming  more  defined  ;  and 
the  appearance  of  the  red  men  upon  the  ratlines  — 
strange  to  the  sailors  —  seems  to  have  made  things 
more  intelligible  to  them.  Judging  by  the  expression 
upon  their  faces,  they  comprehend  what  has  puzzled 
their  companions,  and  with  a  sense  of  anxiety  more 
than  fear,  more  of  doubt  than  dismay. 

The  lieutenant  speaks  first,  shouting  in  command, 
"  Give  way !  Quick  !  Pull  in  !  Head  on  for  the  fore- 
chains  !  " 

He  acts  in  an  excited  manner,  appearing  nervously 
impatient.  As  if  mechanically,  the  midshipman  repeats 
the  order,  imitating  the  mien  of  his  superior.  The 
men  execute  it,  but  slowly,  and  with  evident  reluc- 
tance. They  know  their  officers  to  be  daring  fellow? 
both ;  but  now  they  deem  them  rash,  even  to  reck- 
lessness ;  for  they  cannot  comprehend  the  motives 
urging  them  to  action.  Still  they  obey  ;  and  the  prow 
of  the  boat  strikes  the  bark  abeam. 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  25 

"  Grapple  on  !  "  sings  out  the  senior  officei,  soon  as 
touching.  A  boat-hook  takes  grip  in  the  chains  ;  and 
the  cutter,  swinging  round,  lies  at  rest  alongside. 
The  lieutenant  is  alread}r  on  his  feet,  as  also  the  micL 
Ordering  only  the  cockswain  to  follow,  they  spring  up 
to  the  chains,  lay  hold,  and  lift  themselves  aloft. 

Obedient  to  orders,  the  men  remain  in  the  boat ; 
still  keeping  their  seat  on  the  thwarts,  in  wonder  at 
the  bold  bearing  of  their  officers,  at  the  same  time 
silently  admiring  it. 

Balancing  themselves  on  the  rail,  the  latter  look 
down  upon  the  deck  of  the  polacca.  Their  glances 
sweep  it  forward,  aft,  and  amid-ships ;  ranging  from 
stem  to  stern,  and  back  again.  Nothing  seen  there 
to  explain  the  strangeness  of  things,  nothing  heard. 
No  sailor  on  deck,  nor  officer  on  the  quarter ;  only 
the  two  strange  beings  that  had  shown  tnemselves  on 
the  shrouds.  These  are  still  visible,  one  of  them 
standing  by  the  mainmast,  the  other  crouching  near 
the  caboose.  Both  again  give  out  their  jabbering 
speech,  accompanying  it  with  gestures  of  menace. 
Disregarding  this,  the  lieutenant  leaps  down  upon  the 
deck,  and  makes  towards  them  ;  the  mid  and  cockswain 
keeping  close  after. 

At  their  approach,  che  hirsute  monsters  retreat,  not 
scared-like,  but  with  a  show  of  defiance,  as  if  disposed 
to  contest  possession  of  the  place.  They  give  back, 
however,  bit  by  bit,  till  at  length,  ceasing  to  dispute, 
(hey  shuffle  towards  the  quarter,  and  then  on  to  the 
poop.  Neither  of  the  two  officers  pays  any  attention  to 
their  demonstrations ;  and  the  movement  aft  is  not 
made  for  them.  Both  lieutenant  and  midshipman  seem 
excited  by  other  thoughts,  some  stronger  impulse  ur- 
ging them  on.    Alone  is  the  cockswain  mystified  by  the 

3 


20  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS- 

hairy  men,   and   not   a   little   alarmed ;    but,   without 
speaking,  he  follows  his  superiors. 

They  continue  on  toward  the  quarter-deck,  making 
for  the  cabin-door.  Having  boarded  the  bark  by  the 
fore- chains,  the}7  must  pass  the  caboose,  going  alt. 
Its  sliding  panel  is  open  ;  and,  when  opposite,  all  three 
come  to  a  stand.  They  are  brought  to  it  by  a  faint 
cry  issuing  out  of  the  cook's  quarters.  Looking  in, 
they  behold  a  spectacle  sufficiently  singular  to  detain 
them.  It  is  more  than  singular  :  it  is  startling.  On 
the  bench  in  front  of  the  galley-fire,  which  shows  as 
if  long  extinguished,  sits  a  man,  bolt  upright,  his 
back  against  the  bulkhead.  Is  it  a  man,  or  only  the 
dead  bovty  of  one  ?  Certainly  it  is  a  human  figure ; 
or,  speaking  more  precisely,  a  human  skeleton  with 
the  skin  still  on,  this  as  black  as  the  coal-cinders  in 
Ihe  grate  in  front  of  it. 

It  is  a  man,  a  negro,  and  still  living;  for,  at  sight 
of  them,  he  betrays  motion,  and  makes  an  attempt  to 
speak. 

Only  the  cockswain  stays  to  listen,  or  hear  what  he 
has  to  sa3T.  The  others  hurry  on  aft,  making  direct 
for  the  door  of  the  cabin,  which,  between  decks,  is 
approached  b}r  a  stairwa}\  Reaching  this,  the}r  rush 
down,  and  stand  before  the  door,  which  they  find 
shut ;  only  closed,  not  locked.  It  yields  to  the  turn- 
ing of  the  handle,  and,  opening,  gives  them  admission 
They  enter  hastily,  one  after  the  other,  without  cere- 
mony or  announcement.  Once  inside,  they  as  quickly 
come  to  a  stop,  both  looking  aghast.  The  spectacle 
in  the  caboose  was  nought  to  what  is  now  before  their 
eyes.     That  was  but  startling :  this  is  appalling. 

It  is  the  main-cabin  tiiey  have  entered,  not  a  large 
one;  for  the  polacca  has  not  been  intended  to  carrj 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  27 

passengers.  Still,  is  it  snug  and  roomy  enough  for  a 
lable  six  feet  by  four.  Such  a  one  stands  in  its  centre, 
its  legs  fixed  in  the  floor,  with  four  chairs  around  it, 
similarly  stanchioned. 

On  the  table  there  are  decanters  and  dishes,  along- 
side glasses  and  plates.  It  is  a  dessert  service,  and 
on  the  dishes  are  fruits,  cakes,  and  sweetmeats,  with 
fragments  of  these  upon  the  plates.  The  decanters 
contain  wines  of  different  sorts,  and  there  are  appear- 
ances as  of  wine  having  been  in  the  glasses. 

There  are  four  sets,  corresponding  to  the  four 
chairs ;  and,  to  all  appearance,  this  number  of  guests 
has  been  seated  at  the  table.  But  two  of  the  chairs 
are  empty,  as  if  their  occupants  had  retired  to  an  inner 
state-room.  It  is  the  side-seats  that  are  unoccupied ; 
and  a  fan  lying  on  one,  with  a  scarf  over  the  back  of 
that  opposite,  proclaim  their  last  occupants  to  have 
been  ladies. 

Two  guests  are  still  at  the  table,  — one  at  its  head, 
the  other  at  its  foot,  facing  each  other.  And  such 
guests  !  Both  are  men,  though,  unlike  him  in  the  ca- 
boose, they  are  white.  But,  like  him,  they,  too,  appear 
in  the  extreme  of  emaciation, — jaws  with  the  skin 
drawn  tightly  over  them,  cheek-bones  prominent,  chins 
protruding,  eyes  sunken  in  their  sockets. 

Not  dead,  either ;  for  their  e3Tes,  glancing  and  glar- 
ng,  still  show  life ;  but  there  is  little  other  evidence 
of  it.  Sitting  stiff  in  the  chairs,  rigidly  erect,  they 
mak3  no  attempt  to  stir,  no  motion  of  either  body  or 
limbs,  which  seem  as  if  fro  in  both  all  strength  had 
departed,  their  famished  figures  denoting  the  last 
stages  of  starvation.  And  this  in  front  of  a  table  fur- 
nished v>ith  choice  wines,  fruits,  and  other  comestibles, 
in  short,  loaded  with  delicacies !  What  can  it  all 
mean? 


28  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

Not  tb-s  question,  but  a  cry,  comes  from  the  lips  of 
tho  two  officers,  as  they  stand  regarding  the  strange 
tnn'srd.  Onlv  for  an  instant.  Then  the  lieutenant, 
r*««kng  back  up  the  stair,  and  on  to  the  side,  calls  out, 
"'To  the  ship,  and  bring  the  doctor !     Quick,  quick  !  " 

The  boat's  crew,  obedient,  row  off  with  alacrity. 
Cney  are  but  too  glad  to  get  away  from  the  suspected 
■«pot.  As  they  strain  at  their  oars,  with  faces  turned 
toward  the  bark,  and  e}'es  wonderingly  bent  upon  her, 
they  see  nought  to  give  them  a  clew  to  the  conduct  of 
their  officers,  or  in  any  way  elucidate  the  series  of 
mysteries,  now  prolonged  to  a  chain.  One,  imbueri 
with  a  strong  belief  in  the  supernatural,  shakes  his 
head,  saying,  "  Shipmates,  we  may  never  see  that  lieu- 
tenant again,  nor  the  young  reefer,  nor  the  old  cocks' n 
—  never!  " 

Duiing  all  this  time,  those  on  board  the  man-of-war 
have  stood  regarding  the  bark,  at  the  same  time  watch- 
ing the  movements  of  the  boat.  Only  they  who  have 
glasses  can  see  what  is  passing  with  any  distinctness  ; 
for  the  day  is  not  a  bright  one,  a  haze  over  the  sea 
hindering  observation.  It  has  arisen  since  the  fall  of 
the  wind,  perhaps  caused  by  the  calm  ;  and,  though  but 
a  mere  film,  at  such  far  distance  it  interferes  with  the 
view  through  the  telescopes.  Those  using  them  can 
just  tell  that  the  cutter  has  closed  in  upon  the  strange 
vessel,  and  is  lying  along  under  the  foremast  shrouds, 
while  some  of  her  crew  appear  to  have  swarmed  up  the 
chains.  This  cannot  be  told  for  certain.  The  haze 
around  the  bark  is  more  dense  than  elsewhere,  as  if 
steam  were  passing  off  from  her  sides ;  and  througn 
this  objects  show  only  confusedly. 

While  the  frigate's  people  are  straining  their  eyes  U 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  29 

make  ojo  the  movements  of  the  cutter,  an  officer,  of 
sharper  sight  than  the  rest,  cries,  "  Se^  !  the  boat  is 
coming  back." 

All  perceive  this,  and  with  some  surprise.  It  is  not 
ten  minutes  since  the  boat  grappled  on.  Why  return- 
ing so  soon  ? 

While  the}'  are  conjecturing  as  to  the  cause,  the 
same  officer  again  observes  something  that  has  escaped 
the  others.  There  are  but  eight  oars,  instead  of  ten,  — 
the  regulation  strength  of  the  cutter,  — and  ten  men 
where  before  there  were  thirteen.  Three  of  the  boat's 
crew  have  remained  behind. 

This  causes  neither  alarm  nor  uneasiness  to  the  fri- 
gate's officers.  They  take  it  that  the  three  have  gone 
aboard  the  bark,  and  for  some  reason,  whatever  it  be, 
elected  to  stay  there.  Thej-  know  the  third  lieutenant 
to  be  not  only  brave,  but  a  man  of  quick  decision,  and 
prompt  to  act.  He  has  boarded  the  distressed  vessel, 
discovered  the  cause  of  distress,  and  sent  the  cutter 
back  to  bring  whatever  may  be  needed  for  her  relief. 
Thus  reasons  the  quarter-deck. 

It  is  different  on  the  fore,  where  apprehensions  are 
rife  about  their  missing  shipmates,  fears  that  some 
misfortune  has  befallen  them.  True,  no  shots  have 
been  heard,  nor  flashes  seen.  Still  they  could  have 
been  killed  without  fire-arms ;  and  savages  might  use 
other  and  less  noisy  weapons.  The  tale  of  the  skin- 
clad  crew  gives  color  to  this  supposition.  But  then 
the  crew  of  the  cutter  went  armed ;  in  addition  to 
their  cutlasses,  being  provided  with  pikes  and  boarding- 
pistols.  Had  they  been  attacked,  they  would  not  have 
retreated  without  discharging  the  last,  less  likely 
leaving  three  of  their  number  behind.  But  there  have 
been  no  signs  of  strife  or  struggle  seen.  All  the 
3* 


30  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

more  mystery;  and,  pondering  upon  it,  the  frigate' t 
crew  are  but  strengthened  in  their  superstitious  faith. 

Meanwhile,  the  cutter  is  making  wa}^  across  the 
stretch  of  calm  sea  that  separates  the  two  ships,  and, 
although  with  reduced  strength  of  rowers,  cleaves  the 
water  quickly.  The  movements  of  the  men  indicate 
excitement.     They  pull  as  if  rowing  in  a  regatta. 

Soon  they  are  near  enough  to  be  individually  recog- 
nized ;  when  it  is  seen  that  neither  of  the  two  officers 
is  in  the  boat,  nor  the  cockswain,  one  of  the  oarsmen 
having  taken  his  place  at  the  tiller. 

As  the  boat  draws  nearer,  and  the  faces  of  the  two 
men  seated  in  the  stern-sheets  can  be  distinguished, 
there  is  observed  upon  them  an  expression  which  none 
can  interpret.  No  one  tries.  All  stand  silently  wait- 
ing till  the  cutter  comes  alongside,  and,  sweeping  past 
the  bows,  brings  up  on  the  frigate's  starboard  beam, 
under  the  main-chains. 

The  officers  move  forward  along  the  gangwa}r,  and 
stand  looking  over  the  bulwarks  ;  while  the  men  come 
crowding  aft  as  far  as  permitted.  The  curiosity  of  all 
receives  a  check,  an  abrupt  disappointment.  There 
is  no  news  from  the  bark,  save  the  meagre  scrap  con- 
tained in  the  lieutenant's  order,  "  Bring  the  doctor.' ' 

Beyond  this,  the  cutter's  crew  only  know  that  the}T 
have  seen  the  haiiy  men,  —  seen  and  heard  them, 
though  without  understanding  a  word  of  what  thev 
said.  Two  had  sprung  upon  the  shrouds,  and  shouted 
at  the  cutter's  people,  as  if  scolding  them  off. 

The  tale  spreads  through  the  frigate,  fore  and  aft, 
quick  as  a  train  of  powder  ignited.  It  is  everywhere 
talked  of,  and  commented  on.  On  the  quarter,  it  is 
deemed  si  range  enough ;  while  forward,  it  furthel 
intensifies  the  belief  in  something  supernatural. 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  5H 

The  tars  give  credulous  ear  to  their  comrade,  again 
repeating  what  he  said  in  the  boat,  and  in  the  selfsame 
words.  "  Shipmates,  we  ma}^  never  see  that  lieutenant 
again,  nor  the  }T>ung  reefer,  nor  the  old  cocks' n  — 
never!  " 

The  boding  speech  seems  a  prophecy  already  realized. 
Scarce  has  it  passed  the  sailor's  lips,  when  a  cry  rings 
through  the  ship  that  startles  all  aboard,  thrilling  them 
more  intensely  than  ever. 

AVhile  the  men  have  been  commenting  upon  the  mes- 
sage brought  back  from  the  bark,  and  the  officers  are 
taking  steps  to  hasten  its  execution,  —  the  doctor  get- 
ting out  his  instruments,  with  such  medicines  as  the 
occasion  seems  to  call  for,  —  the  strange  vessel  haj 
been  for  a  time  unthought  of. 

The  cry  just  raised  recalls  her,  causing  them  tc  rush 
towards  the  frigate's  side,  and  once  more  bend  their 
eyes  on  the  bark. 

No,  not  on  her,  only  in  the  direction  where  she  was 
last  seen ;  for,  to  their  astonishment,  the  polacca  has 
disappeared. 


THE  FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER    IV 

A     BLACK     SQUALL. 

THE  surprise  caused  by  the  disappearance  of  the 
strange  vessel  is  but  short-lived.  It  is  explained 
by  a  very  natural  phenomenon,  —  a  fog  ;  not  the  haze 
already  spoken  of,  but-  a  dense  bank  of  dark  vapor, 
that,  drifting  over  the  surface  of  the  sea,  has  suddenly 
enveloped  the  bark  within  its  floating  folds.  It  threat- 
ens to  do  the  same  with  the  frigate,  as  every  sailor 
aboard  of  her  can  perceive.  But,  though  their  sur- 
prise is  at  an  end,  a  sense  of  undefined  fear  still  holds 
possession  of  them.  Nor  is  this  on  account  of  the 
coming  fog.  That  could  not  frighten  men  who  have 
dared  eveiy  danger  of  the  deep,  and  oft  groped  their 
way  through  ic}r  seas  shrouded  in  almost  amorphous 
darkness. 

Their  fears  spring  from  a  fancy  that  the  other  phe- 
nomena are  not  natural.  The  fog  of  itself  may  be ; 
but  what  brings  it  on, — just  then,  at  a  crisis,  whec 
they  were  speculating  about  the  character  of  the  chased 
a  essel,  some  doubting  her  honest}',  others  sceptical  of 
her  realitj^,  not  a  few  boldly  denouncing  her  as  a  phan- 
tom? If  an  accident  of  K*li"-e,  certainly  a  remarkable 
one  ;  in  truth,  a  strange  phenomenon. 

The  reader  may  slnile  at  credulity  of  this  kind,  but 
not  he  who  has  mixed  among  the  men  of  the  forecastle, 
whatever  the  nationality  of  the  ship,  and  whether 
merchantman  or  man-of-war.     No'   all  the  training  of 


A   STOKY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  33 

naval  schools,  nor  the  boasted  enlightenment  of  this 
onr  age,  has  fully  eradicated  from  the  mind  of  the 
canvas-clad  mariner  a  belief  in  something  more  than 
he  has  seen,  or  can  see, —  something  outside  Nature. 
To  suppose  him  emancipated  from  this  would  be  to 
hold  him  of  higher  intelligence  than  his  fellow-men 
who  stay  ashore  ploughing  the  soil,  as  he  does  the  sea. 
To  thousands  of  these  he  can  point,  saying,  "  Behold 
the  believers  in  supernatural  existences,  in  spirit* 
rappings,  ay,  in  very  ghosts ;  this  not  only  in  days 
gone  b}r,  but  now  —  now  more  than  ever  within  mem- 
ory of  man !  ' '  Then  let  not  landsmen  scoff  at  such 
fancies,  not  a  whit  more  absurd  than  their  own  credu- 
lous conceits. 

Aside  from  this  sort  of  feeling  in  the  war-ship,  there 
is  soon  a  real  and  far  more  serious  apprehension,  in 
which  all  have  a  share,  officers  as  well  as  men.  A  fog 
is  before  their  eyes,  apparently  fast  approaching.  It 
has  curtained  the  other  vessel,  spreading  over  her  like 
a  pall,  and  threatens  to  do  the  same  with  their  own. 
They  perceive,  also,  that  it  is  not  a  fog  of  the  ordinary 
kind,  but  one  that  portends  storm,  sudden  and  violent ; 
for  they  are  threatened  by  the  black  squall  of  the 
Pacific.  Enough  in  the  name  to  cause  uneasiness  about 
the  safety  of  their  ship ;  though  not  of  her  are  they 
thinking.  She  is  a  stanch  vessel,  and  can  stand  the 
sea's  buffe tings.  Their  anxiety  is  for  their  absent 
shipmates,  whose  peril  all  comprehend.  They  know 
the  danger  of  the  two  vessels  getting  separated  in  a 
fog.  If  they  do,  what  will  be  the  fate  of  those  who 
have  staid  behind  on  the  bark?  The  strange  craft 
has  been  signalling  distress.  Is  it  scarcity  of  provis- 
ions, or  the  want  of  water?  If  so,  in  either  case  sho 
will  be  worse  off  than  ever.     It  cannot  be  shortness  of 


84  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTEESS. 

hands  to  work  her  sails,  with  these  all  set !  Sickness* 
then?  Some  scourge  afflicting  her  crew,  —  cholera,  01 
yellow-fever?  This  made  probable  by  the  lieutenant 
sending  back  for  the  doctor,  and  the  doctor  only. 

Conjecturing  ends,  and  suddenly  :  the  time  for  action 
has  arrived.  The  dark  cloud  comes  driving  on,  and  is 
soon  around  the  ship,  lapping  her  in  its  damp,  murky 
embrace.  It  clings  to  her  bulwarks,  pours  over  her 
canvas,  still  spread,  wetting  it  till  big  drops  rain  down 
■ipon  the  deck.  It  is  no  longer  a  question  of  the  sur- 
geon starting  forth  on  his  errand  of  humanit}r,  nor  the 
cutter  returning  to  the  becalmed  bark.  Now  there 
is  no  more  chance  of  discovering  the  latter  than  of 
finding  a  needle  in  a  truss  of  straw.  In  such  a  fog, 
the  finest  ship  that  ever  sailed  sea,  with  the  smartest 
crew  that  ever  manned  vessel,  would  be  helpless  as  ~ 
man  groping  his  waj7  in  Cimmerian  darkness.  There 
is  no  more  thought  of  the  bark,  and  not  so  much  about 
the  absent  officers.  Out  of  sight,  the\T  are,  for  a  time, 
almost  out  of  mind ;  for  on  board  the  frigate  everv 
one  has  now  enough  to  do  looking  after  himself  and 
his  duties.  Almost  on  the  instant  of  her  sails  being 
enveloped  in  vapor,  they  are  struck  b}'  a  wind  coming 
from  a  quarter  directly  opposite  to  that  for  which  they 
have  been  hitherto  set. 

The  voice  of  her  commander,  heard  thundering 
through  a  trumpet,  directs  canvas  to  be  instantly  taken 
in.  The  order  is  executed  with  the  promptness  pecu- 
liar tc  men-of-wai's  men;  and,  soon  after,  the  huge 
ship  is  tossing  amid  tempestuous  waves,  with  only 
storm-sails  set.  A  ship  under  storm-canvas  is  a  sight 
always  melancholy  to  the  mariner :  it  tells  of  a  struggle 
with  winds  and  waves,  a  serious  conflict  with  the  ele* 
rnents,  which  may  well  cause  anxiety. 


A  STOEY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  35 

Such  is  the  situation  of  the  British  frigate  soon  aa 
surrounded  by  the  fog.  The  sea,  lately  tranquil,  is 
now  madly  raging ;  the  waves  tempest  lashed,  their 
crests  like  the  manes  of  white  horses  in  headlong  ga] 
lop.  Amid  them  the  huge  war- vessel,  —  but  a  while 
before  almost  motionless,  a  leviathan,  —  apparently  the 
sea's  lord,  is  now  its  slave,  and  soon  maybe  its  victim. 
Dancing  like  a  cork,  she  is  buffeted  from  billow  to 
billow,  or  thrown  into  the  troughs  between,  as  if  cast 
there  in  scorn.  Her  crew  are  fully  occupied  taking  care 
of  her,  without  thought  of  any  other  vessel,  even  one 
flying  a  flag  of  distress.  Ere  long  they  may  have  to 
hoist  the  same  signal  themselves.  But  there  are  skilled 
seamen  aboard,  who  well  know  what  to  do,  who  watch 
and  ward  every  sea  that  comes  sweeping  along.  Some 
of  these  tumble  the  big  ship  about  till  the  steersmen 
feel  her  going  almost  regardless  of  the  rudder. 

There  are  but  two  courses  left  for  safety ;  and  her 
captain  weighs  the  choice  between  them.  He  must 
"  lie  to,"  and  ride  out  the  gale,  or  "  scud"  before  it. 
To  do  the  latter  might  take  him  away  from  the  strange 
vessel  (now  no  longer  seen)  ;  and  she  might  never  be 
sighted  by  them  again.  Ten  chances  to  one  if  she  ever 
would ;  for  she  ma}T  not  elect  to  run  down  the  wind. 
Even  if  she  did,  there  would  be  but  slight  hope  of 
overhauling  her,  supposing  the  storm  to  continue  for 
any  considerable  time.  The  probabilities  are  that  she 
will  lie  to.  As  the  frigate's  lieutenant  will  no  doubt 
have  control,  he  will  order  her  sails  to  be  taken  in:  he 
would  so^iv;e  think  of  parting  from  that  spot. 

Thus  reflecting,  the  captain  determines  to  stay  where 
he  is.  Every  thing  has  been  made  snag,  and  the 
ship's  head  set  close  to  wind. 

Still,  aboard  of  her,  brave  hearts  are  filled  wirh  sad 


36  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

forebodings  ;  not  from  an}'  fear  for  themselves,  but  the 
safety  of  their  shipmates  in  the  bark.  Both  of  the 
absent  officers  are  favorites  with  their  comrades  of  the 
quarter,  as  with  the  crew.  So,  too,  the  cockswain  whc 
accompanies  them.  What  will  be  their  fate?  All  are 
thinking  of  it,  though  no  one  offers  a  surmise.  No 
one  can  tell  to  what  they  have  committed  themselves. 
'Tis  only  sure,  that,  in  the  tempest  now  raging,  there 
must  be  danger  to  the  strange  craft,  without  counting 
that  signalized  by  her  reversed  ensign,  without  thought 
of  the  nvysteiy  alreadj'  inwrapping  her.  The  heart  of 
every  man  on  board  the  war-ship  is  beating  with  hu- 
manity, and  pulsing  with  pent-up  fear.  And  while 
the  waves  are  fiercely  assaulting  the  strong  ship,  while 
winds  are  rattling  loud  amidst  her  rigging,  a  yet  louder 
sound  mingles  with  their  monotone.  It  is  given  out 
at  regularty  measured  intervals  ;  for  it  is  the  minute- 
gun  which  the  frigate  has  commenced  firing,  not  as  a 
signal  of  distress,  asking  for  assistance,  but  one  of 
counsel  and  cheer,  seeking  to  give  it.  Every  sixtj7 
seconds,  amidst  the  wild  surging  of  waves,  and  the 
hoarse  howling  of  winds,  the  louder  boom  of  cannon 
breaks  their  harsh  continuit}'. 

The  night  comes  down,  adding  to  the  darkness, 
though  not  much  to  the  dilemma  in  which  the  frigate  is 
placed.  The  fog  and  storm  combined  have  already 
made  her  situation  dangerous  as  might  be  :  it  could  not 
well  be  worse.  Both  continue  throughout  the  night ; 
and  on  through  all  the  night  she  keeps  discharging  the 
signal-guns.  No  one  aboard  of  her  thinks  of  listening 
for  a  response.  In  all  probability,  there  is  no  cannon, 
nothing,  upon  the  bark,  that  could  give  it.  Close 
upon  the  hour  of  morning,  the  storm  begins  to  abate, 
and  the  clouds  to  dissipate.     The  fog  seems  to  be  lift 


A   STORY   OF   THE  SOUTH   SEA.  BT 

Ing,  or  drifting  off  to  some  other  part  of  the  ocean, 
With  hope  again  dawning  comes  the  dawn  of  day 
The  crew  of  the  frigate  —  every  man  of  them,  officers 
and  tars  —  are  upon  deck.  The}'  stand  along  the  ship's 
sides,  ranged  in  rows  b}T  the  bulwarks,  looking  out 
across  the  sea. 

There  is  no  fog  now,  not  the  thinnest  film.  The 
sky  is  clear  as  crystal,  and  blue  as  a  boat-race  ribbon 
fresh  unfolded;  the  sea  the  same,  its  big  waves  no 
longer  showing  sharp  white  crests,  but  rounded,  and 
rolling  gently  along.  Over  these  the  sailors  look,  scan- 
ning the  surface.  Their  gaze  is  sent  to  every  quarter, 
every  point  of  the  compass.  The  officers  sweep  the 
horizon  with  their  glasses,  ranging  around  the  circle 
where  the  two  blues  meet.  But  neither  naked  e}-e  nor 
telescope  can  discover  aught  there.  OnhT  sea  and  sky ; 
an  albatross  with  pinions  of  grander  spread,  or  & 
tropic  bird,  its  long  tail-feathers  trailing,  trainlike ; 
behind  it ;  no  bark,  polacca-rigged  or  otherwise,  nc 
ship  of  any  kind,  no  sign  of  sail,  no  canvas,  except 
a  full  set  of  "  courses,"  which  the  frigate  herself  has 
now  set.  She  is  alone  upon  the  ocean,  —  in  the 
mighty  Pacific,  —  a  mere  speck  upon  its  far-stretching, 
illimitable  expanse.  Every  man  aboard  of  her  fecis 
this,  and  feels  it  with  a  sense  of  sadness.  But  they 
are  silent,  each  inquiring  of  himself  what  has  become 
of  the  bark,  and  what  has  been  the  fate  of  their  ship- 
mates. 

One  alone  is  heard  speaking  aloud,  giving  expression 
to  a  thought  now  common  to  all.  It  is  the  sailor  who 
twice  uttered  "Mie  prediction,  which  he  again  repeats, 
only  changing  it  to  the  assertion  of  a  certainty.  With 
a  group  gathered  around  him,  he  says,  "Shipmates, 
we'll  never  see  that  lieutenant  again,  nor  fhe  youn^ 
reefer,  nor  the  old  cocks' n  —  never  I  " 


38  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A     BRACE    OF     BRITISH    OFFICERS 

SCENE,  San  Francisco,  the  capital  of  California 
Time,  the  autumn  of  1849,  several  week3  ante- 
cedent to  the  chase  described. 

A  singular  city  the  San  Francisco  of  1849,  very 
different  from  what  it  is  to-day,  and  equally  unlike 
what  it  was  twelve  months  before  the  aforesaid  date, 
when  the  obscure  village  of  Yerba  Buena  yielded  up 
its  name,  along  with  its  site,  entering  on  what  may  be 
termed  a  second  genesis. 

The  little  village,  port  of  the  Mission  Dolores,  built 
of  sun-dried  bricks,  —  its  petty  commerce  in  hides  and 
tallow  represented  b}T  two  or  three  small  craft  annually 
visiting  it,  —  wakes  up  one  morning  to  behold  whole 
fleets  of  ships  come  crowding  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
and  dropping  their  anchor  in  front  of  its  wharfless 
strand.  They  come  from  all  parts  of  the  Pacific,  from 
all  the  other  oceans,  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  carry- 
ing every  kind  of  flag  known  to  the  nations.  The 
whaleman,  late  harpooning  "fish"  in  the  Arctic,  with 
him  who  has  been  chasing  "cachalot"  in  the  Pacific 
and  Indian ;  the  merchantman  standing  towards  Aus- 
tralia, China,  or  Japan ;  the  trader  among  the  South 
Sea  Islands  ;  the  coaster  of  Mexico,  Chili,  and  Peru  ; 
men-o'- war  of  every  flag  and  fashion,  —  frigates,  cor- 
vettes, and  double-deckers ;  even  Chinese  junks  and 
Matayar  pi  alius  —  are  seen  sailing  into  San  Franciscc 


A  STOBY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  39 

Bay,  and  coming  to  beside  the  beach  of  Ye.ba 
Bnena. 

What  has  caused  this  grand  spreading  of  canvas, 
and  commingling  of  queer  craft  ?  What  is  still  caus- 
ing it,  for  still  thej'  come?  The  answer  lies  in  a  little 
word  of  four  letters  ;  the  same  that,  from  the  beginning 
of  man's  activity  on  earth,  has  moved  him  to  many 
things,  too  oft  to  deeds  of  evil,  —  gold.  Some  eighteen 
months  before,  the  Swiss  emigre  Sutter,  scouring  out 
his  mill-race  on  a  tributary  of  the  Sacramento  River, 
observes  shining  particles  among  the  mud.  Taking 
them  up,  and  holding  them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
lie  feels  that  the}T  are  heavy,  and  sees  them  to  be  of 
golden  sheen.  And  gold  they  prove,  when  submitted 
to  the  test  of  the  alembic.  The  son  of  Helvetia  dis- 
covers the  precious  metal  in  grains  and  nuggets,  inter- 
spersed with  the  silt  of  a  fluvial  deposit.  They  are 
not  the  first  found  in  California,  but  the  first  coming 
under  the  eyes  of  Saxon  settlers,  —  men  imbued  with 
the  energy  to  collect  and  carry  them  to  the  far-off  out- 
side world. 

Less  than  two  years  have  elapsed  since  the  digging 
of  Sutter's  mill-race.  Meantime,  the  specks  that  scin- 
tillated in  its  ooze  have  been  transported  over  the 
ocean,  and  exhibited  in  the  great  cities,  in  the  win- 
dows of  brokers  and  bullion-merchants.  The  sight 
has  proved  sufficient  to  thickly  people  the  banks  ot  the 
Sacramento,  —  hitherto  sparsely  settled,  —  and  cover 
San  Francisco  Bay  with  ships  from  eveiy  quarter  of 
the  globe.  Not  only  is  the  harbor  of  Yerba  Buena 
crowded  with  strange  craft,  but  its  streets  with  queer 
characters,  —  adventurers  of  every  race  and  clime, 
among  whom  may  be  heard  an  exchange  of  tonguo3, 
the  like  never  listened  to  since  the  abortive  attempt  at 


40  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

building  the  Tower  of  Babel.  The  Mexican  mud-wal\uG 
dwellings  disappear,  swallowed  up  and  lost  amidst  ths 
modern  surrounding  of  canvas  tents  and  weather 
board  houses,  that  have  risen  as  by  magic  around 
them.  A  like  change  has  taken  place  in  their  occu- 
pancy. No  longer  the  tranquil  interiors,  —  the  tertulia, 
with  guests  sipping  aniseed,  curacoa,  and  Canario, 
munching  sweet  cakes  and  confituras.  Instead,  the 
houses  inside  now  ring  with  boisterous  revelry,  smell- 
ing of  mint  and  Monongahela  ;  and,  though  the  guitar 
still  tinkles,  it  is  almost  inaudible  amid  the  louder 
strains  of  clarinet,  fiddle,  and  trombone. 

What  a  change  in  the  traffic  of  the  streets !  No 
more  silent  at  certain  hours,  deserted  for  the  siesta;  at 
others,  trodden  by  sandalled  monks  and  shovel -hatted 
priests,  both  bold  of  gaze  when  passing  the  dark- 
eyed  damsels  in  high  shell  combs  and  black  silk  man- 
tillas, bolder  still,  saluting  the  brown-skinned  daughter 
of  the  aboriginal,  wrapped  in  her  blue-gray  rebozo; 
trodden,  too,  by  garrison  soldiers  in  uniforms  of 
French  cut  and  color,  by  officer  glittering  in  gold  lace, 
by  townsman  in  cloak  of  broadcloth,  the  country  gen« 
tleman  (haciendado)  on  horseback,  and  the  herdsmen, 
or  small  farmers  (rancheros) ,  in  their  splendid  Califor- 
nian  costume.  Some  of  these  are  still  seen,  but  pot,  as 
of  yore,  swaggering  and  conspicuous.  Amid  the  con- 
course of  new-comers  they  move  timidly,  jostled  by 
rough  men  in  red  flannel  shirts,  buckskin,  and  blanket 
coats,  with  pistols  in  their  belts,  and  knives  hanging 
handy  along  their  hips ;  others  equally  formidable  in 
Guernsey  frocks,  or  wearing  the  dreadnought  jacket  of 
the  sailor ;  not  a  few  scarcely  clothed  at  all,  shrouding 
their  nakedness  in  such  rags  as  remain  after  a  long 
journey  overland,  or  a  longer  voyage  by  sea.     In  al 


A   STOR?    OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  41 

probability,  since  its  beginning  the  world  never  wit 
nessed  so  motley  an  assemblage  of  men  tramping 
through  the  streets  of  a  seaport  town  as  those  seen  in 
Y(  rba  Buena,  just  baptized  San  Francisco,  1849,  A. D., 
and  perhaps  never  a  more  varied  display-  of  bunting 
in  one  bay. 

In  all  certainty,  harbor  never  had  so  large  a  number 
of  ships  with  so  few  men  to  man  them.  At  least  one- 
half  are  crewless,  and  a  large  proportion  of  the  remain- 
der nearly  so.  Many  have  but  their  captain  and  mates, 
with,  it  may  be,  the  carpenter  and  cook.  The  sailors 
are  ashore,  and  but  few  of  them  intend  returning 
aboard.  They  have  either  gone  off  to  the  gold-dig- 
gings, or  are  going.  There  has  been  a  general  deban- 
dade  among  the  Jack-tars,  leaving  many  a  merry 
forecastle  in  forlorn  and  silent  solitude. 

In  this  respect,  there  is  a  striking  contrast  between 
file  streets  of  the  town  and  the  ships  in  its  harbor.  In 
2he  former,  an  eager  throng,  pushing,  jostling,  surging 
noisily  along,  with  all  the  impatience  of  men  half  mad  ; 
in  the  latter,  tranquillity,  inaction,  the  torpor  of  lazy 
life,  as  if  the  ships  —  many  of  them  splendid  craft  — 
were  but  hulks  laid  up  for  good,  and  never  again  going 
to  sea.  Some  never  did.  Yet  not  all  the  vessels  in 
San  Francisco  Bay  are  crewless.  A  few  still  have 
their  complement  of  hands  ;  these  being  mostly  men- 
of  war.  The  strict  naval  discipline  prevents  desertion, 
though  it  needs  strategy  to  assist.  They  ride  at  anchor 
far  out  be^yond  swimming-distance  from  the  beach,  and 
will  not  allow  shore-boats  to  approach  them.  The  tar 
who  attempts  to  take  French  leave  will  have  a  severe 
swim  for  it,  and .  perchance  get  a  shot  which  will  send 
him  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  With  this  menace  con- 
stant^* before  his  mind,  even  California's  gold  does 
not  tempt  him  to  run  the  gantlet. 


42  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

Among  the  craft  keeping  up  this  iron  discipline  is 
one  that  bears  the  British  flag,  —  a  man-of-war,  con- 
spicuous by  her  handsome  hull,  and  clean,  tapering 
spars.  Her  sails  are  stowed  snug,  lashed  neatly  along 
the  3rards :  in  her  rigging,  not  a  rope  out  of  place. 
Down  upon  her  decks,  white  as  holystone  can  make 
them,  the  same  regularity  is  observable.  Every  rope 
is  coiled,  or  trimly  turned  upon  its  belaying-pm.  It 
could  not  be  otherwise  with  the  frigate  "  Crusader/5 
commanded  by  Capt.  Bracebridge,  a  sailor  of  the  old 
school,  who  takes  a  pride  in  his  ship.  He  still  retains 
his  crew,  every  one  of  them.  There  is  not  a  name 
on  the  frigate's  books  but  has  its  representative  in  a 
live  sailor,  who  can  either  be  seen  upon  her  decks,  or 
at  any  moment  summoned  thither  by  the  whistle  of  the 
boatswain.  Though,  even  if  left  to  themselves,  but 
few  of  them  would  care  to  desert.  Gold  itself  cannot 
lure  them  to  leave  a  ship  where  things  are  so  agreea- 
ble ;  for  Capt.  Bracebridge  does  all  in  his  power  to 
make  matters  pleasant,  for  men  as  well  as  officers. 
He  takes  care  that  the  former  get  good  grub,  and 
plent}^  of  it,  including  full  rations  of  grog.  He  per- 
mits them  to  have  amusements  among  themselves ; 
while  the  officers  treat  them  to  tableaux-vivants,  cha- 
rades, and  private  theatricals.  To  crown  all,  a  grand 
ball  has  been  given  aboard  the  ship  in  anticipation  of 
her  departure  from  the  port,  an  event  near  at  hand. 
This,  in  return  for  an  entertainment  of  like  kind,  given 
by  some  citizens  in  honor  of  her  officers,  at  which 
more  than  one  of  the  latter  made  acquaintances  they 
would  wish  to  meet  again,  two  of  .hem  desiring  it 
with  longings  of  a  special  kind.  In  other  words,  two 
of  the  frigate's  officers  have  fallen  in  love  with  a  brace 
of  shore  damsels,  with  whom  they  have  danced,  and 
lone  some  flirting. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  48 

It  is  the  third  day  after  the  ball ;  and  the&e  two 
officers  are  standing  upon  the  poop-deck,  conversing 
about  it.  They  are  apart  from  their  comrades,  pur- 
posely, since  their  speech  is  confidential.  The}7  arc; 
both  3Toung  men, — the  elder  of  them,  Crozier,  being  & 
year  or  two  over  twenty ;  while  the  }Tounger,  Cadwal- 
lader, is  almost  as  much  under  it.  Crozier  has  passed 
his  term  of  probationaiy  service,  and  is  now  a 
"mate;"  while  the  other  is  still  a  u  midshipmite." 
And  a  type  of  this  last,*  just  as  Marryat  would  h;we 
made  him,  is  Willie  Cadwallader,  — bright  face,  light- 
colored  hair,  curling  over  cheeks  ruddy  as  the  bloom 
upon  a  ripe  peach.  He  is  Welsh,  with  those  e3res  of 
turquoise  blue  often  observed  in  the  descendants  of  the 
Cymri,  and  hair  of  a  hue  seen  nowhere  else,  —  threads 
of  gold  commingled  with  tissue  of  silver. 

Quite  different  is  Edward  Crozier,  who  hails  from  an 
ancestral  hall  standing  in  the  shire  of  Salop.  His 
hair,  also  curling,  is  dark  brown,  his  complexion 
corresponding ;  and  a  pair  of  mustaches,  already  well 
grown,  lie  like  leeches  along  his  lip,  the  tips  turned 
upward.  An  aquiline  nose  and  broad  jaw-blades  de- 
note resolution,  —  a  character  borne  out  hy  the  glance 
of  an  eye  that  never  shows  quailing.  He  is  of  medium 
size,  with  a  figure  denoting  g.-eat  strength,  and  capable 
of  carrying  out  an}r  resolve  his  mind  may  make ;  the 
shoulders  square  set,  breast  well  bowed  out,  the  arms 
and  limbs  in  perfect  proportion.  In  point  of  persona] 
appearance,  he  is  the  superior ;  though  both  are  hand- 
some fellows,  each  in  his  own  style.  And  as  the 
styles  are  different,  so  are  their  dispositions,  these 
rather  contrasting.  Crozier  is  of  a  serious,  sedate 
turn,  and,  though  any  thing  br  t  morose,  rarefy  given 
to  mirth.     ?rom  the  face  of  Cadwallader  the  Jiiugh  le 


44  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

scarcely  ever  absent ;  and  the  dimple  on  his  cheek ,  to 
employ  a  printer's  phrase,  appears  stereotyped.  With 
the  young  Welshman,  a  joke  might  be  carried  to  ex- 
tremes ;  but  he  would  only  seek  his  revanche  by  a  lark 
of  like  kind.  With  him  of  Salop,  practical  jesting 
would  be  dangerous,  and  might  end  in  stern  resent- 
ment, parhaps  in  a  duel.  Notwithstanding  this  dif- 
ference in  disposition,  the  two  are  fast  friends,  —  a  fact 
perhaps  due  to  the  dissimilitude  of  their  naturef. 
When  not  separated*  by  their  respective  duties,  they 
keep  together  aboard  ship,  and  together  go  ashore, 
and  now,  for  the  first  time  in  the  lives  of  both,  have 
commenced  making  love  together.  Fortune  has  favored 
them  in  this,  that  the}'  are  not  in  love  with  the  same 
lady ;  still  further,  that  their  sweethearts  do  not  dwell 
apart,  but  live  under  one  roof,  and  belong  to  one  fam 
ily.  They  are  not  sisters,  for  all  that ;  nor  3-et  cousins, 
though  standing  in  a  certain  relationship.  One  is  the 
aunt  of  the  other.  Such  kinship  might  augur  inequal- 
ity in  their  age.  There  is  none,  however,  or  only  a 
very  little  ;  not  so  much  as  between  the  young  officers 
themselves.  The  aunt  is  but  a  3*ear  or  so  the  senior 
of  her  niece.  And,  as  fate  has  willed,  the  lots  of  the 
lovers  have  been  cast  in  the  proper  s}Tmmetry  and  pro- 
portion. Crozier  is  in  love  with  the  former ;  Cadwal- 
lader,  with  the  latter. 

Their  sweett.ef.rts  are  both  Spanish,  of  the  purest 
blood,  —  the  boasted  sangre  azul.  They  are  respec- 
tively daughter  and  grand-daughter  of  Don  Gregorio 
Montijo,  whose  house  can  be  seen  from  the  ship,  —  a 
mansion  of  imposing  appearance,  in  the  Mexican  haci- 
enda style,  standing  upon  the  summit  of  a  hill,  at  some 
distance  in  shore,  and  southward  from  the  town.  WMlj 
iouversing,  the  young  officers  have  their  eyes  upon  it. 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  45 

one  of  the  two  assisting  his  vision  with  a  binocular, 
It  is  Caclwallader  who  uses  the  instrument. 

Holding  it  to  his  eye,  he  sa}'s,  "I  think  I  can  see 
them,  Ned.  At  all  events,  there  are  two  heads  on  the 
housetop,  just  showing  over  the  parapet.  I'll  take  odds 
it's  them,  the  dear  girls.     I  wonder  if  the}'  see  us." 

"  Not  unless,  like  yourself,  they  are  provided  with 
telesoopes." 

"By  Jove  !  I  believe  they've  got  them.  I  see  some- 
thing that  glances  in  the  hands  of  one ;  my  Inez,  I'll 
warrant." 

"  More  likely  it's  my  Carmen.  Give  me  the  glass. 
For  all  those  blue  eyes  }'ou're  so  proud  of,  I  can  sight 
a  sail  farther  than  you." 

'*  A  sail,  yes  ;  but  not  a  pretty  face,  Ned.  No,  no  : 
rou're  blind  to  beaut}',  else  3'ou'd  never  have  taken  on 
to  that  old  aunt,  leaving  the  niece  to  me.  Ha,  ha, 
ha!" 

"Old,  indeed!  She's  as  young  as  yours,  if  not 
younger.  One  tress  of  her  bright  amber  hair  is  worth 
a  whole  head  of  3'our  sweetheart's  black  stuff.  Look 
at  this!"  Crozier  draws  out  a  lock  of  hair,  and,  un- 
folding, shakes  it  tauntingly  before  the  other's  eyes 
In  the  sun  it  gleams  golden,  with  a  radiance  of  red ; 
for  it  is  amber,  as  he  has  styled  it. 

"  Look  at  this  !  "  cries  Cadwallader,  also  exhibiting 
a  tress.  "  You  thought  nobod}^  but  3-ourself  could 
show  love-locks.  There's  a  bit  of  hair,  that,  to  yours, 
is  as  costly  silk  alongside  cheap  common  cotton." 

Ft  r  an  instant  each  stands  caressing  his  particular 
tress;  then  both  burst  into  laughter,  as  the;r  stow 
away  their  separate  favors. 

Crozier,  in  turn  taking  the  binocular,  directs  it  on 
the   house  of   Don    Grego^io ;    after   a   time   saying, 


46  THE  FLAG  OP  DISTRESS. 

"  About  one  thing  }rou're  right,  "Will :  those  heads  ar€ 
the  same  from  which  we've  got  our  love-locks.  Ay, 
and  they're  looking  this  wa}\  through  glasses.  They'll 
be  expecting  us  soon.  Well,  we'll  be  with  them,  plea?** 
God,  before  many  minutes.  Then  you'll  see  how  much 
superior  bright  amber  is  to  dull  black — anywhere  in 
the  world,  but  especially  in  the  light  of  a  Californian 
sun." 

"  Nowhere,  under  either  sun  or  moon.  Give  me 
the  girl  with  the  raven  hair !  ' ' 

"  For  me,  her  with  the  golden  bronze  !  " 

"  Well,  cada  uno  a  su  gusto  ('  every  one  to  his  lik- 
ing ') ,  as  my  sweetheart  has  taught  me  to  say  in  her  soft 
Andalusian.  But  now,  Ned,  talking  serious^,  do  you 
think  the  governor  will  allow  us  to  go  ashore  ? ' ' 

"  He  must ;  and  I  know  he  will." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?  " 

"Bak!  ma  bohil,  as  our  Irish  second  would  sa}'. 
You're  the  son  of  a  poor  Welsh  squire,  —  good  blood, 
I  admit,  —  but  I  chance  to  be  heir  to  twice  ten  thou- 
sand a  year,  with  an  uncle  in  the  admiralty.  I  have 
asked  leave  for  both  of  us :  so  don't  be  tineas}'  about 
our  getting  it.  Capt.  Bracebridge  is  no  snob  ;  but  he 
knows  his  own  interests,  and  won't  refuse  our  fair  re- 
quest. See  !  There  he  is,  coming  this  way.  Now  for 
his  answer,  —  affirmative,  }rou  niay-  rely  upon  it." 

"  Gentlemen,"  sa}'s  the  captain,  approaching,  "  I 
give  3rou  leave  to  go  ashore  for  the  day.  The  gig  will 
take  3'ou,  landing  wherever  you  wish.  You  are  to  send 
the  boat  back,  and  give  the  cockswain  orders  where  and 
when  he's  to  .await  you  on  your  return  to  the  ship 
Take  my  advice,  and  abstain  from  drink,  which  might 
get  you  into  difficulties.  As  you  know,  just  now  San 
Francisco  is  full  of  all   sorts   of  queer   characters,  a 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  47 

very  Pandemonium  of  a  place.  For  the  sake  of  the 
service,  and  the  honor  of  the  uniform  you  wear,  steer 
clear  of  scrapes,  and,  above  all,  giv,e  a  wide  berth  to 
women." 

After  thus  delivering  himself,  the  captain  turns  on 
his  heel,  and  retires,  leaving  the  young  officers  to  their 
meditations.  They  do  not  meditate  long.  The  desired 
leave  has  been  granted,  and  the  order  given  for  the  gig 
to  be  got  read}".  The  boat  is  in  the  water,  her  crew 
swarming  over  the  side,  and  seating  themselves  upon 
the  thwarts.  The  young  officers  only  stay  to  give  a 
finishing  touch  to  their  toilet,  preparatory  to  appearing 
before  eyes  of  whose  critical  glances  both  have  more 
fear  than  they  would  from  the  fire  from  a  broadside  of 
great  guns.  This  arranged,  they  drop  down  the  man- 
ropes,  and  seat  themselves  in  the  stern-sheets  ;  Crozier 
commanding  the  men  to  shove  off.  Soon  the  frigate's 
gig  is  gliding  over  the  tranquil  waters  of  San  Francisco 
Bay,  not  in  the  direction  of  the  landing-wharf,  but 
towards  a  point  on  the  shore  to  the  south  of,  and  some 
distance  outside,  the  suburbs  of  the  citv;  for  the 
beacon  towards  which  they  steer  is  the  house  of  Doa 
G-regoiio  Montijo. 


48  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  PAIR  OF  SPANISH  SENORITAS. 

DON  GREGORIO  MONTTJO  is  a  Spaniard,  who, 
some  ten  years  previous  to  the  time  of  whieh  we 
write,  found  his  way  into  the  republic  of  Mexico,  after- 
wards moving  on  to  Alta  California.  Settling  b}r  San 
Francisco  Bay,  he  became  a  stock-farmer,  the  indus- 
try in  those  days  chiefly  followed  by  Californians. 
His  grazing-estate  gives  proof  that  he  has  prospered. 
Its  territory  extends  several  miles  along  the  bay,  and 
several  leagues  backward,  its  boundary  in  this  direc- 
tion being  the  shore  of  the  South  Sea  itself;  while  a 
thousand  head  of  horses,  and  ten  times  the  number  of 
horned  cattle,  roam  over  its  rich  pastures.  His  house 
stands  upon  the  summit  of  a  hill  that  rises  above  the 
bay,  —  a  sort  of  spur  projected  from  higher  ground  be- 
hind, and  trending  at  right  angles  to  the  beach,  where 
it  declines  into  a  low-lying  sand-spit.  Across  this  runs 
the  shore-road,  southward  from  the  city  to  San  Jose. 
cutfiig  the  ridge  midway  between  the  walls  of  the 
house  and  the  water's  edge,  at  some  three  hundred 
yards'  distance  from  each. 

The  dwelling,  a  massive  quadrangular  structure, — in 
that  semi-moriscan  style  of  architecture  imported  into 
New  Spain  by  the  Conqulstadores  —  is  but  a  single 
story  in  height,  having  a  flat,  terraced  roof,  and  an 
Inner  court,  approached  through  a  grand  gate  entrance, 
centrally  set  in  the  front  facade,  with  a  double- winged 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  49 

door,  wide  enough  to  admit  the  chariot  of  fjir  Charles 
Grandison. 

Around  a  Californian  country-house  there  is  rarely 
much  in  the  way  of  ornamental  grounds,  even  though 
it  be  a  hacienda  of  the  first  class,  and  when  the 
headquarters  of  a  grazing-estate,  still  less ;  its  enclo- 
sures consisting  chiefly  of  "  corrals  "  for  the  penning 
and  branding  of  cattle,  usually  erected  in  the  rear  of 
the  dwelling  To  this  almost  universal  nakedness,  the 
grounds  of  Don  Gregorio  offer  some  exception.  He 
has  added  a  fence,  which,  separating  them  from  the 
high-road,  is  penetrated  by  a  portalled  entrance,  with 
an  avenue  that  leads  straight  up  to  the  house.  This, 
strewn  with  snow-white  sea-shells,  is  flanked  on  each 
side  by  a  row  of  manzanita  bushes,  —  a  beautiful  indi- 
genous evergreen.  Here  and  there,  a  clump  of  Califor- 
nia ba}Ts,  and  some  scattered  peach-trees,  show  an 
attempt,  however  slight,  at  landscape-gardening. 

Taking  into  account  the  grandeur  of  his  house,  and 
the  broad  acres  attached  to  it,  one  may  well  sa}T,  that, 
in  the  New  World,  Don  Gregorio  has  done  well.  And 
in  truth  so  has  he,  — thriven  to  fulness.  But  he  came 
not  empty  from  the  Old ;  having  brought  with  him 
sufficient  cash  to  purchase  a  large  tract  of  land,  as 
also  the  horses  and  horned  cattle  with  which  to  stock 
it.  No  need}*  adventurer  he,  but  a  gentleman  by  birth, 
one  of  Biscay's  bluest  blood,  —  hidalgos  since  the  days 
of  the  Cid. 

In  addition  to  his  ready-mone}',  he  also  brought 
with  him  a  wife, —  Biscaj^an  as  himself, —  and  a  daugh- 
ter, who  at  the  time  was  but  a  child.  His  wife  has 
been  long  ago  buried  ;  a  tombstone  in  the  cemetery  of 
the  old  Dolores  Mission  commemorating  her  many 
virtues.     Since,  he  has  had  an  accession  to  his  con 

5 


~>0  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

tracted  family  circle ;  the  added  member  being  i 
grand-daughter,  only  a  year  j-ounger  than  his  daugh- 
ter, but  equally  well  grown,  both  having  reached  the 
ripest  age  of  girlhood.  It  is  not  necessary  to  say 
tbat  these  }Toung  ladies,  thus  standing  in  the  ulation- 
slrp  of  aunt  and  niece,  are  the  two  with  whom  Edward 
Crozier  and  Willie  Cadwallader  have  respectively  fall- 
en in  love. 

While  these  young  officers  are  on  the  way  to  pay 
them  the  promised  visit,  a  word  may  be  said  about 
their  personal  appearance.  Though  so  closely  allied, 
and  nearly  of  an  age,  in  other  respects  the  two  girls 
differ  so  widely,  that  one  unacquainted  with  the  fact 
would  not  suspect  the  slightest  kinship  between  them. 

The  aunt,  Dona  Carmen,  is  of  pure  Biscayan  blood, 
both  by  her  father's  and  mother's  side.  From  this 
she  derives  her  blonde  complexion,  with  that  color  of 
hair  so  pleasing  to  the  sight  of  Edward  Crozier,  with 
blue-gray  eyes,  known  as  "Irish;"  the  Basques  and 
Celts  being  a  kindred  race.  From  it,  also,  she  inher- 
its a  cheerful,  smiling  countenance,  with  just  enough  of 
roguery  in  the  smile  to  cause  a  soupgon  of  coquettish- 
ness.  Her  Biscayan  origin  has  endowed  her  with  a 
figure  of  fine,  full  development,  withal  in  perfect  femi- 
nine proportion ;  while  her  mother  has  transmitted  to 
her,  what,  in  an  eminent  degree,  she  herself  possessed, 
—  facial  beauty. 

In  the  daughter,  its  quality  has  not  deteriorated, 
but  perhaps  improved ;  for  the  benignant  clime  of 
California  has.  this  effect,  the  soft  breezes  of  the  South 
Sea  fanning  as  fair  cheeks  as  were  ever  kissed  by  Tus- 
can or  Levantine  wind.  It  is  not  necessary  to  describe 
Don  a  Carmen  Montijo  in  detail.  A  chapter  might  be 
ievoted  to  her  many  chains,  and  still  not  do  them  jus« 


A  STOBY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  51 

tice.  Enough  to  say,  that  they  are  bej'ond.  cavil ;  and 
that  there  are  men  in  San  Francisco  who  would  dare 
death  for  her  sake,  if  sure  of  a  smile  from  her  to  show 
approval  of  the  deed ;  ay,  one  who  would  for  as  much 
do  murder.  And  in  that  same  city  is  one  who  would 
do  the  same  for  her  niece,  Iiiez  Alvarez  ;  though  she 
has  neither  a  blonde  complexion,  blue  e}-es,  nor  amber- 
colored  hair.  In  all  three  different;  the  first  being 
morena,  or  brunette  ;  the  second,  black  as  jet ;  the  last 
as  raven's  plumes.  But  she  has  also  beauty,  — of  the 
type  immortalized  by  many  bards,  Byron  among  the 
number,  when  he  wrote  his  rhapsody  on  the  "  Girl  of 
Cadiz." 

Inez  is  herself  a  girl  of  Cadiz,  of  which  city  her 
father  was  a  native.  The  Conde  Alvarez,  an  officer 
in  the  Spanish  army,  serving  with  his  regiment  in 
Biscay,  there  saw  a  face  that  charmed  him.  It 
belonged  to  the  daughter  of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo,, 
his  eldest  and  first-born,  some  eighteen  years  antece- 
dent to  the  birth  of  Carmen,  his  last.  The  count 
wooed  the  Biscayan  lady,  won,  and  bore  her  away  to 
his  home  in  Andalusia.  Both  he  and  she  have  gone 
to  their  long  account,  leaving  their  only  child,  Inez, 
inheritress  of  a  handsome  estate.  From  her  father,  in 
whose  veins  ran  Moorish  blood,  she  inherits  her  jet- 
black  eyes,  having  lashes  nearly  half  an  inch  in  length, 
and  above  them,  brows  shaped  like  the  moon  in  the 
middle  of  her  first  quarter.  Though  in  figure  more 
slender  than  her  aunt,  she  is  quite  Carmen's  equal  in 
height ;  and  in  this  may  yet  excel,  since  she  has  not 
yet  attained  her  full  stature.  The  death  of  her  parents 
accounts  for  her  being  in  California,  whither  she  has 
come  to  be  under  the  protection  of  the  father  of  her 
mother.     She  has  been  there  but  a  short  time  ;  a  d 


52  THE  FLAG  OF  DESTKESS. 

although,  all  the  while,  "  lovers  have  been  sighing 
around  her,"  she  longs  to  return  to  her  own  Andalusia. 

As  already  said,  Don  Gregorio's  dwelling  is  flat- 
roofed,  its  top,  in  Spano-Mexican  phrase,  termed  the 
azotea.  This,  surrou  ided  by  a  parapet  breast-high,  is 
beset  with  plants  and  flowers  in  boxes  and  pots,  thus 
forming  a  sort  of  aerial  garden,  reached  by  a  stone 
stair,  the  escalera,  which  leads  up  out  of  the  inner 
court,  called  patio.  During  certain  hours  of  the  da}T, 
the  azotea  is  a  favorite  resort,  being  a  pleasant  place 
of  dalliance,  as  also  the  finest  for  observation,  com- 
manding, as  it  does,  a  view  of  the  country  at  back, 
and  the  broad  bay  in  front.  To  look  upon  the  last 
have  the  two  seTioritas,  on  this  same  morning,  ascended 
soon  after  breakfast,  —  in  all  parts  of  Spanish  America 
partaken  at  the  somewhat  late  hour  of  eleven,  a.m. 

That  they  do  not  intend  staying  there  long  is  evi- 
dent from  the  character  of  their  dresses.  Both  are 
costumed  and  equipped  for  the  saddle,  having  hats  of 
vicuna  wool  on  their  heads,  riding-whips  in  their  hands, 
and  spurs  on  their  heels  ;  while  in  the  courtyard  below 
stand  four  horses,  saddled  and  bridled,  champing  their 
bits,  and  impatiently  striking  the  pavement  with  their 
hoofs.  Since  all  the  saddles  are  such  as  should  be 
ridden  by  men,  it  ma}T  be  supposed  only  men  are  to  be 
mounted,  and  that  the  ladies'  horses  have  not  }Tet  been 
brought  out  of  the  stable.  This  would  naturally  be 
the  conjecture  of  a  stranger  to  Spanish  California. 
But  one  au  fait  to  its  fashions  would  draw  his  deduc- 
tions differently.  Looking  at  the  spurred  damsels 
upon  the  housetop,  and  the  saddled  horsos  below,  he 
would  conclude  that  at  least  two  of  the  latter  were 
intended  to  be  ridden  by  the  former,  in  that  style  of 
equitation   with  which  tlu.    famed  Duchosse  de   Bern 


A  STORE"  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  53 

was  accustomed  to  astonish  the  people  of  Paris  The 
other  two  horses,  having  larger  and  somewhat  coirsei 
saddles,  are  evidently  designed  for  gentlemen ;  so 
that  the  cavalcade  will  be  symmetrically  composed, — 
two  and  two  of  each  sex.  The  gentlemen  have  not 
3'et  put  in  an  appearance ;  but  who  they  are  may  be 
learned  by  listening  to  the  dialogue  passing  between  the 
two  senoritas.  From  their  elevated  position  they  can 
see  the  rapidly  growing  city  of  San  Francisco,  and  the 
shipping  in  its  harbor.  This  is  north-east,  and  a  little 
to  their  left.  But  there  are  several  vessels  riding  at 
anchor  just  out  in  front  of  them ;  one,  a  war-ship, 
towards  which  the  eyes  of  both  keep  continuously 
turning,  as  though  in  expectation  to  see  a  boat  put  off 
from  her  side.  As  }Tet,  none  such  has  been  seen  ;  and, 
withdrawing  her  gaze  from  the  war-ship,  Inez  opens 
the  conversation  by  asking  her  aunt  a  question,  "  Is 
it  really  true  that  we're  going  back  to  Spain?  " 

"  Quite  true  ;  and  I'm  sorry  for  it." 

"  Why  should  you  be  sorry?  " 

"  Why  !     There  are  many  reasons." 

"  Give  one,"  challenges  the  niece. 

"  I  could  give  twenty." 

"  One  will  be  sufficient,  if  good." 

"  They're  all  good,"  gravely  rejoins  the  aunt. 

"  Let  me  hear  them,  then." 

"  First  of  all,  I  like  California  :  I  love  it,  —  its  fine 
climate,  and  bright  blue  skies." 

"  Not  a  bit  brighter  or  bluer  than  those  of  Spain." 

"  Ten  times  brighter,  anc\  ten  times  bluer.  The 
skies  of  the  Old  World  are  to  those  of  the  New  as  lead 
to  lapis  lazuli.  In  that  respect,  neither  Spain  nor  Italy 
can  compare  with  California.  Its  seas,  too,  are  supe- 
rior.    Even  the  boasted  Bay  of  Naples  would  1  e  but  -i 


54  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

little  lake  alongside  thi3  noble  sheet  of  water,  fai 
stretching  before  our  e}Tes.     Look  at  it !  " 

"  Looking  at  it  through  your  eyes,  I  might  think  so ; 
not  through  mine.  For  my  part,  I  see  nothing  in  it  to 
be  so  much  admired/ ' 

k'  But  something  on  it ;  for  instance,  that  grand  ship 
out  yonder.  Come,  now,  confess  the  truth.  Isn't 
that  something  to  admire?" 

"  But  that  does  not  belong  to  the  bay,"  replies  the 
Andalusian. 

"  No  matter:  it's  on  it  now,  and  in  it  (the  ship,  I 
mean) ,  somebocty  who,  if  I  mistake  not,  has  very  much 
interested  somebody  else,  —  a  certain  Andalusian  dam- 
sel, by  name  Inez  Alvarez." 

"  Your  words  will  answer  as  well  for  a  Biscayan 
damsel,  b}T  name  Carmen  Montijo." 

"Suppose  I  admit  it,  and  say  yes?  Well,  I  will. 
There  is  one  in  yonder  ship  who  has  very  much  inter- 
terested  me.  Nay,  more :  I  admire,  ay,  love  him. 
You  see  I'm  not  ashamed  to  confess  what  the  world 
seems  to  consider  a  woman's  weakness.  We  Biscayans 
don't  keep  secrets  as  you  Andalusians.  For  all,  sobri- 
71a,  you  haven't  kept  yours,  though  3-011  tried  hard 
enough.  I  saw  from  the  first  3-ou  were  smitten  with 
that  3'oung  English  officer  who  has  hair  the  exact  color 
of  a  fox-squirrel." 

"  It  isn't  any  thing  of  the  kind.  His  hair  is  a  thou- 
sand times  of  a  prettier  hue  than  that  of  the  other 
English  officer,  who's  taken  3^our  fanc3T,  tia." 

1 '  Nothing  to  compare  with  it.  Look  at  this  !  There's 
a  curl,  one  of  the  handsomest  that  ever  grew  on  the 
head  of  man,  —  dark  and  glossy,  like  the  coat  of  a  fur* 
seal ;  beautiful !    I  could  kiss  it  over  ? nd  over  again." 

Whi.e  speaking,  she  does  so. 


A.  STOBY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  55 

"  And  look  at  this!  "  cries  the  other,  also  drawing 
forth  a  lock  of  hair,  and  displaying  it  in  the  sunlight. 
"  See  how  it  shines,  like  tissue  of  gold  !  Far  prettier 
tnan  that  you've  got,  and  better  worth  kissing." 

Saying  which,  she  imitates  the  example  her  aunt  has 
set  her,  by  raising  the  tress  to  her  lips,  and  repeatedly 
kissing  it. 

"  So,  so,  nry  innocent ! "  exclaims  Carmen,  "  you've 
been  stealing  too?" 

"As  yourself." 

"And  I  suppose  }*ou've  given  him  a  love-lock  in 
exchanger  " 

"Have  you?" 

"  I  have.  To  you,  Iiiez,  I  make  no  secret  of  it. 
Come,  now.  Be  equally  candid  with  me.  Have  you 
done  so?  " 

"  I've  done  the  same  as  j'ourself." 

"  And  has  your  heart  gone  with  the  gift?  Tell  the 
truth,  sobrina." 

"  Ask  your  own,  tia,  and  take  its  answer  for  mine." 

"  Enough  then.  We  understand  each  other,  and 
shall  keep  the  secret  to  ourselves.  Now,  let's  talk  of 
other  things :  go  back  to  what  we  began  with,  about 
leaving  California.     You're  glad  we're  going?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes  !  And  I  wonder  you're  not  the  same. 
Dear  old  Spain !  the  finest  country  on  earth,  and 
Cadiz  the  finest  city." 

"  Well,  cada  uno  a  su  gusto  ('  every  one  to  his 
liking  ').  But  about  that  we  two  differ.  Give  me  Cali- 
fornia for  a  countiy,  and  San  Francisco  for  a  home, 
though  it's  not  much  of  a  city  yet.  It  will  be,  ere 
long  ;  and  I  should  like  to  stay  in  it.  But  that's  not  to 
^c,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  Father  has  determined 
on  leaving.     Indeed,  he  has  already  sold  out;  so  that 


56  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

this  house  and  the  lands  around  it  are  no  longer  ours, 
As  the  lawyers  have  made  out  the  deed  of  transfer, 
and  the  money  has  been  paid  down,  we're  only  here  or 
sufferance,  and  must  soon  yield  possession.  Then 
we're  to  take  ship  for  Panama,  go  across  the  Isthmus, 
and  over  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  once  more  to  renew  the 
Old- World  life,  with  all  its  stupid  ceremonies.  Oh ! 
I  shall  sadly  miss  the  free,  wild  ways  of  California,  its 
rural  sports,  with  their  quaint  originality  and  pictur- 
esqueness.  I'm  sure  I  shall  die  of  ennui  soon  after 
reaching  Spain.     Your  Cadiz  will  kill  me." 

"  But,  Carmen,  surely  }~ou  can't  be  happy  here,  now 
that  every  thing  is  so  changed  ?  Wiry,  we  can  scarcely 
walk  out  in  safet}T,  or  take  a  promenade  through  the 
streets  of  the  town,  crowded  with  those  rude  fellows 
in  red  shirts,  who've  come  to  search  for  gold,  —  Anglo- 
Saxons,  as  the}'  call  themselves." 

"  What !  You  speaking  against  Anglo-Saxons,  and 
with  that  tress  treasured  in  your  bosom,  so  close  to 
your  heart." 

"  Oh!  he  is  different.  He's  not  Saxon,  but  Celtic, 
the  same  as  you  Bisca}-ans.  Besides,  he  isn't  to  be 
ranked  with  that  rabble,  even  though  he  weic  of  the 
same  race.    The  Seilor  Cadwallader  is  a  born  hidalgo.'* 

"  Admitting  him  to  be,  I  think  you  do  wrong  to 
these  red-shirted  gentiy,  in  calling  them  a  rabble. 
Rough  as  is  their  exterior,  the}'  have  gentle  hearts 
under  their  coarse  homespun  coats.  Many  of  them 
are  true  bred  and  born  gentlemen,  and,  what's  better, 
behave  as  such.  I've  never  received  insult  from  them, 
not  even  disrespect,  though  I've  been  beside  then) 
scores  of  times.  Father  wrongs  them  too ;  for  it  U 
partly  their  presence  here  that's  causing  him  to  leave 
California,  as  so,  also,  many  others  of  our  old  famili'  s 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  57 

SU11,  as  we  reside  in  the  countiT,  at  a  safe  listance 
from  town,  we  might  enjoy  immunity  from  meeting  loa 
barbaros,  as  our  people  are  pleased  contemptuously  to 
style  them.  For  my  part,  I  love  dear  old  California,  and 
shall  greatly  regret  leaving  it.  Only  to  think  !  I  shall 
never  more  behold  the  gallant  vaquero,  mounted  on  his 
magnificent  steed,  careering  across  the  plain,  and 
launching  his  lazo  over  the  horns  of  a  fierce  wild  bull, 
ready  to  gore  him  if  he  but  miss  his  aim.  Ah!  it's 
one  of  the  finest  sights  in  the  world,  so  exciting  in  this 
dull,  prosaic  age  !  It  recalls  the  heroic  days  and  deeds 
of  the  great  Conde,  the  Campeador,  and  Cid.  Yes, 
Iiiez,  only  in  this  modern  Transatlantic  land,  out  here, 
on  the  shores  of  the  South  Sea,  do  there  still  exist 
customs  and  manners  to  remind  one  of  the  old  knight- 
errantry,  and  times  of  the  troubadours.,, 

44  What  an  enthusiast  3'ou  are  !  but,  apropos  of  your 
knights-errant,  yonder  are  two  of  them,  if  I  mistake 
not,  making  this  way.  Now,  fancy  yourself  on  the 
donjon  of  an  ancient  Moorish  castle,  salute,  and  receive 
them  accordingly.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

The  clear,  ringing  laugh  of  the  Anclalusian  is  not 
echoed  by  the  Biscayan.  Instead,  a  shadow  steals 
over  her  face,  as  her  eyes  become  fixed  upon  two  fig- 
ures distinguishable  as  men  on  horseback. 

1 '  True  t3'pes  of  your  Californian  chivalry !  ' '  adds 
Inez  ironically. 

44  True  types  of  Californian  villany  !  rejoins  Csrniea, 
in  earnest. 


58  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTBESii. 


CHAPTER  VTI. 

A    COUPLE    OF    CALIFORNIAN 

THE  true  types  of  Calif ornian  chivalry,  or  villany, 
have  just  emerged  from  the  suburbs  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, taking  the  road  which  leads  southward  along 
shore. 

Both  are  garbed  in  grand  st^ie,  —  in  the  national 
costume  of  California,  which,  in  point  of  picturesque- 
ness,  is  not  exceeded  by  any  other  in  the  world. 

They  wear  the  wide  trousers  (calzoneras) ,  along  the 
outer  seams  lashed  with  gold-lace,  and  beset  with  fili- 
gree buttons,  the  snow-white  drawers  (calzoncillas) 
here  and  there  puffing  out ;  below,  botas  and  spurs, 
the  last  with  rowels  several  inches  in  diameter,  that 
glitter  like  great  stars  behind  their  heels.  They  have 
tight-fitting  jackets  of  velveteen,  closed  in  front,  and 
over  the  bosom  elaborately  embroidered ;  scarfs  of 
China  crape  round  their  waists,  the  ends  dangling 
adown  the  left  hip,  terminating  in  a  fringe  of  gold 
cord ;  on  their  heads  sombreros  with  broad  brim,  and 
band  of  bullion,  the  toquilla.  In  addition,  each  car- 
ries over  his  shoulders  a  manga,  —  the  most  magnificent 
of  outside  garments,  with  a  drape  graceful  as  a  Roman 
toga.  That  of  one  is  scarlet-colored,  the  other  sky- 
blue.  Their  horses  are  not  less  grandly  bedecked,  — 
saddles  of  stamped  leather,  scintillating  with  silver 
studs,  their  cloths  elaborately  embroidered ;  bridles 
of  plaited  horse  -flair,  pointed  with  tags  and  tassels: 


A   STORY   OF   THE  SOUTH   SEA.  59 

bits  of  the  Mameluke  pattern,  with  check-pieces  and 
curbs  powerful  enough  to  break  the  jaw  at  a  jerk. 

The  steeds  thus  splendidly  caparisoned  are  wcrtlrv 
of  it.  Though  small,  the}'  are  of  perfect  shape,  —  pure 
blood  of  Arabian  sires,  transmitted  through  dams  of 
Andalusia.  They  are  descended  from  the  stock  trans- 
ported to  the  New  World  by  the  Conquistadores ;  and 
the  progenitor  of  one  or  other  may  have  carried  Alva- 
rado,  or  Sandoval,  perhaps  Cortez  himself. 

The  riders  are  both  men  of  swartlry  complexion, 
with  traits  that  tell  of  the  Latinic  race.  Their  features 
are  Spanish,  in  one  a  little  more  pronounced  than  in  the 
other.  He  who  wears  the  sky-colored  cloak  has  all  the 
appearance  of  being  Mexican  born.  The  blood  in  his 
veins,  giving  the  brown  tinge  to  his  skin,  is  not  Moor- 
ish, but  more  likely  from  the  aborigines  of  California. 
For  all  that,  he  is  not  a  mestizo,  only  one  among 
whose  remote  ancestry  an  Indian  woman  may  have 
played  part ;  since  the  family-tree  of  man}-  a  proud 
Californian  has  sprung  from  such  root.  He  is  a  man 
of  medium  size,  with  figure  squat  and  somewhat  spare, 
and  sits  his  horse  as  though  he  were  part  of  the  ani- 
mal. If  seen  afoot,  his  legs  would  appear  bowed, 
almost  bandied,  showing  that  he  has  spent  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  in  the  saddle.  His  face  is  flat,  its  out- 
line rounded,  the  nose  compressed,  nostrils  agape,  and 
lips  thick  enough  to  suggest  the  idea  of  an  African 
origin.  But  his  hair  contradicts  this,  being  straight 
as  needles,  and  black  as  the  skin  of  a  Colobus  monkey. 
More  likely  he  has  it  from  the  Malays,  through  the 
Californian  Indian,  some  tribes  of  which  are  undoubt- 
edly of  Malayan  descent.  Whatever  the  mixture  in 
his  blood,  the  man  is  himself  a  nat're  Californian, 
born  by  the  side  of  San  Francisco  Ba}-   >n  a  ganaderia* 


60  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

or  graziug-estate.  He  is  some  twenty  six  or  seven 
years  of  age,  his  name  Faustino  Calderon,  —  "  Don  " 
by  ancestral  right,  and  ownership  of  the  aforesaid 
ganaderia. 

He  in  the  scarlet  manga,  though  but  two  or  three 
years  older,  is  altogether  different  in  appearance,  as 
otherwise ;  personalty  handsomer,  and  intellectually 
superior.  His  features,  better  formed,  are  more  purely 
Spanish,  their  outline  oval  and  regular.  The  jaws  broad 
and  balanced ;  the  chin  prominent ;  the  nose  high, 
without  being  hooked  or  beaked  ;  the  brow  classical^ 
cut,  and  surmounted  by  a  thick  shock  of  hair,  coal- 
black  in  color,  and  waved,  rather  than  curling ;  heavy 
mustaches  on  the  upper  lip,  with  an  imperial  on  the 
nnder  one,  the  last  extending  below  the  point  of  the 
chin,  all  the  rest  of  his  face,  throat,  and  cheeks,  clean 
shaven,  —  such  are  the  facial  characteristics  of  Don 
Francisco  de  Lara,  who  is  a  much  larger,  and,  to  all 
appearance,  stronger  man,  than  his  travelling-compan- 
ion. 

Calderon,  as  said,  is  a  gentleman  by  birth,  and  a 
ganadero,  or  stock-farmer,  b}-  occupation.  He  inherits 
extensive  pasture-lands  left  him  by  his  father,  —  some 
time  deceased,  —  along  with  the  horses  and  horned 
cattle  that  browse  upon  them.  An  only  son,  he  is  now 
ownei  of  all ;  but  his  ownership  is  not  likely  to  con- 
tinue. He  is  fast  relinquishing  it  by  the  pursuit  of 
evil  courses,  among  them  three  of  a  special  kind, — 
wine,  women,  and  pla}T,  —  which  promise  to  make  him 
bankrupt  in  purse,  as  they  have  in  character.  For 
around  San  Francisco,  as  in  it,  he  is  known  as  a  roue 
and  reveller,  a  debauchee  in  every  form,  and  a  silly 
fellow  to  boot.  Naturally  of  weak  intellect,  indulgence 
in  dissipation  has  rendered  it  weaker 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  61 

Of  as  much  moral  darkness,  though  different  ia  kind, 
is  the  character  of  Don  Francisco  de  Lara,  —  "  Frank 
Lara,"  as  he  is  familiarly  known  in  the  streets  and 
saloons.  Though  Spanish  in  features,  and  speaking 
the  language,  he  can  also  talk  English  with  perfect 
fluency,  French  too  when  called  upon,  with  a  little 
Portuguese  and  Italian  ;  for,  in  truth,  he  is  not  a  Span- 
iard, though  of  Spanish  descent,  —  a  Creole  of  New 
Orleans  :  hence  his  philological  acquirements.  He  is  one 
of  those  children  of  chance,  wanderers  who  come  into 
the  world  nobody  knows  how,  when,  or  whence ;  only 
that  they  are  in  it ;  and,  while  there,  performing  a  part 
in  accordance  with  their  mysterious  origin, — living  in 
luxury,  and  finding  the  means  for  it  by  ways  that 
baffle  conjecture. 

Frank  Lara  is  fully  thirty  years  of  age,  the  last  ten 
of  which  he  has  spent  on  the  shores  of  San  Francisco 
Bay.  Landing  there  from  an  American  whaling-vessel, 
and  in  sailor-costume,  he  cast  off  his  tarry  "togs," 
and  took  to  land-life  in  California.  Its  easy  idleness, 
as  its  lawlessness,  exactly  suited  his  natural  inclina- 
tions, and,  above  all,  his  penchant  for  gamiDg.  He 
soon  became  a  noted  character  in  the  cockpit,  as  at  the 
card-table,  making  monej-  by  both,  —  enough  to  keep 
him  without  the  necessity  of  asking  favors  from  any 
one. 

Similar  inclinings  and  pursuits  at  an  early  period 
brought  him  and  Calderon  in  contact ;  and  relations 
have  been  formed  between  them  now  firmly  fixed.  Of 
late  more  than  ever ;  for  since  the  breaking-out  of  the 
gold-fever,  with  its  consequent  Anglo-Saxon  invasion, 
the}'  have  become  united  in  a  business  partnership,  —  in 
a  bank;  not  one  of  the  ordinary  kind,  for  discount 
and  deposit,  with  desks  and  counters  for  the  transaction 
6 


62  THE  FLAG   OF  D1STKESS. 

of  affairs,  but  suJh  as  may  be  seen  in  an}'  Calif ornian 
town,  —  a  drinking-saloon,  containing  tables  covered 
with  green  cloth,  and  rows  of  chairs  or  benches  around 
them  :  in  short,  the  species  known  asa"  monte  bank." 

Since  the  discovery  of  the  gold  placers,  the  streets 
of  San  Francisco  have  become  crowded  with  men  mad 
after  the  precious  metal,  among  them  some  who  dc 
aot  desire  to  undergo  the  toil  ef  sifting  it  out  of  sand, 
washing  it  from  river-mud,  nor  yet  crushing  it  clear  of 
quartz-rock.  They  prefer  the  easier  and  cleaner  method 
of  gathering  it  across  the  green  baize  of  a  gambling- 
table. 

To  accommodate  such  gentry,  Don  Francisco  de  Lara 
has  established  a  monte  bank,  Don  Faustino  Calderon 
being  his  backer.  But  though  the  latter  is  the  mon- 
eyed man,  and  has  supplied  most  of  the  cash  to  start 
with,  he  does  not  show  in  the  transaction.  He  has  still 
some  lingering  ideas  of  respectabilit}*,  and  does  not 
desire  to  appear  as  a  professional  gambler.  He  acts, 
therefore,  as  the  sleeping  partner  ;  while  De  Lara,  with 
less  reputation  at  stake,  is  the  active  and  ostensible 
one. 

Such  are  the  two  men,  splendidly  attired,  and  mag- 
nificently mounted,  who  have  issued  from  the  new- 
named  town  of  San  Francisco,  and  are  riding  along 
the  shore  of  its  ba}^.  As  the}'  canter  gently  through 
the  suburbs,  they  are  seen  by  several,  who  know  and 
recognize  them.  Man}'  admire  their  grand  style  and 
picturesque  habiliments,  and  notably  the  gold-diggers, 
and  other  late-comers  to  California,  who  have  never 
before  seen  citizens  in  such  shining  array.  Farther  on, 
the  gamesters  encounter  but  few  people,  and  fewer  still 
who  know  them.  For  they  are  now  straying  beyond 
the  range  of  red-shirts,  and  meet  onl    the  natives  of 


A  STOKY.OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  63 

ftie  country,  rancheros  riding  trwnward.  Of  smb.  as 
do  recognize  them,  the  greater  number  can  tell  where 
they  are  going.  They  would  say  that  Calderon  io  on 
his  way  to  the  hacienda  of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo,  and 
could  guess  his  errand.  About  that  of  De  Lara,  they 
might  not  be  so  sure,  though  they  would  suppose  him 
going  there  too. 

Strange  all  this  to  one  unacquainted  with  California 
and  its  ways,  especially  one  acquainted  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  two  individuals  in  question.  He  would 
naturally  ask,  Could  men  so  tainted  be  on  visiting- 
terms  with  the  family  of  a  gentleman  among  the  first 
in  California,  ranking  with  its  grandest  ricos,  and  fa- 
milias  principales?  By  one  knowing  the  country  and 
its  customs  in  the  olden  time,  the  answer  would  not 
be  a  negative ;  for  there  and  then  every  second  man 
met  with  was  a  gambler,  either  professionally  or  in 
practice,  and  not  a  few  women  as  well.  He  who  did 
Bot  occasionally  cast  dice,  or  stake  doubloons  upon  the 
turning  of  a  card,  was  a  vara  avis.  The  keeper  of  a 
monte  bank  might  not  be  deemed  so  respectable  as  a 
banker  of  the  ordinary  kind :  not  only  was  he  not 
socially  outlawed,  but,  if  rich,  "  society  "  rather  ca- 
ressed him. 

As  yet,  Don  Faustino  Calderon  has  not  come  under 
the  category  of  the  professional  "  sport ;  "  and  respec 
tability  does  not  repel  him.  His  dissipated  habits  are 
far  from  exceptional ;  and  his  father's  good  name  still 
continues  to  throw  its  cegis  over  him.  Under  it  he  is 
eligible  to  Californian  society  of  the  most  select  kind, 
and  has  the  entree  of  its  best  circles. 

And  so,  also,  Don  Francisco  de  Lara — in  a  different 
Way.  Wealth  has  secured  him  this  ;  fo*.  although  any 
thing  but  rich,  he  has  the  repute  of  be  ing  so,  and  bears 


64  THU   FLAG    OF  DISTRESS. 

evidence  of  it  about  him.  He  is  always  stylishly  and 
fashionably  attired ;  his  shirt  of  the  finest  linen,  with 
diamond  studs  sparkling  m  its  front.  Free  in  dispens- 
ing gratuities,  he  gives  to  the  poor  and  the  priests ; 
the  last  kind  of  largess  being  a  speculation.  He  in- 
tends it  as  such,  and  it  has  well  repaid  the  outla}r; 
for  in  California,  as  in  other  Catholic  countries,  the 
dispenser  of  "  Peter's  Pence  "  is  sure  of  being  highly 
esteemed.  Frank  Lara  has  done  this  with  a  libera, 
hand,  and  is  therefore  st}rled  Don  Francisco  de  Lara, 
sainted  as  such  by  the  sandalled  monks  and  shovel 
hatted  priests  who  come  in  contact  with  him.  In 
addition  to  all,  he  is  good  looking,  and  of  graceful  de- 
portment, without  being  at  all  a  dandy.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  carries  himself  with  earnest  air,  calm  ana 
cool,  while  in  his  eye  may  be  read  the  expression,  noli 
me  tangere.  A  native  of  New  Orleans,  where  duels 
occur  almost  daily,  he  is  up  in  the  art  d'escrime.  Since 
his  arrival  in  California,  he  has  twice  called  out  hia 
man,  on  the  second  occasion  killing  him. 

Escroc  as  the  French  might  call  him,  "  blackleg  "  in 
the  English  vocabulary,  "  sport"  in  American  phrase, 
Frank  Lara  is  a  man  with  whom  no  one  who  knows 
him  would  like  to  take  liberties. 

In  the  companionship  of  Calderon, —  under  his  wing, 
as  it  were, — he  has  been  admitted  into  the  best  houses, 
and,  along  with  the  latter,  is  now  on  the  way  to  visit 
that  of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo.  That  their  visit  is  of 
unique  character,  and  for  an  important  purpose,  can  be 
gleaned  from  the  speech  passing  between  them  as  they 
ride  along  the  road. 

"  "Well,  Calderon,"  says  De  Lara,  "  from  something 
you  said  before  settirg  out,  I  take  it  j^ou' re  going  to 
Don  Gregorio' s  on  business  very  similar  tc  my  own. 
Come,  comrade !  declare  your  errand." 


A  &TORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  65 

"  Declare  yours ." 

tt  Certainly.  I  shall  make  nc  secret  of  it  to  you; 
nor  need  I.  "Why  should  there  be  any  between  us? 
We've  now  known  one  another  long  and  intimately 
enough  to  exchange  confidences  of  even  the  closest 
kind.  To-day  mine  is,  that  I  mean  proposing  to  Don 
Gregorio'  s  daughter. ' ' 

"  And  I,"  returns  Calderon,  "  intend  doing  the  same 
to  his  grand-daughter. 

"  In  that  case,  we're  both  in  the  same  boat.  Well, 
as  there's  no  rivalry  between  us,  we  can  pull  pleasant- 
ly together.  I've  no  objection  to  being  your  uncle, 
even  admitting  }T>u  to  a  share  in  the  Spaniard's  prop- 
erty proportioned  to  your  claims  of  kinship." 

"I  don't  want  a  dollar  of  the  old  don's  money; 
onl}T  his  grand-daughter.     I'm  deeply  in  love  with  her. 

"And  I,"  continues  De  Lara,  "am  just  as  deeply 
in  love  with  his  daughter :  it  may  be  deeper." 

"You  couldn't.  I'm  half  mad  about  Inez  Alvarez. 
I  could  kill  her  —  if  she  refuse  me." 

"  I  shall  kill  Carmen  Montijo  —  if  she  refuse  me." 

The  two  men  are  talking  seriously,  or  seem  so. 
Their  voices,  the  tone,  the  flashing  of  their  eyes,  the 
expression  upon  their  faces,  with  their  excited  gesticu- 
lation, all  show  them  to  be  in  earnest.  At  the  last 
outburst  of  passionate  speech,  they  turn  round  in  their 
saddles,  and  look  each  other  in  the  face. 

De  Lara  continues  the  dialogue:  "Now,  tell  me, 
Faustino,  what  hope  have  you  of  success?  " 

"For  that,  fair  enrugh.  You  rememb(*r  the  last 
fandango  held  at  Don  Gregorio' s,  —  on  the  day  of  the 
cattle-branding  ? ' ' 

"  Certainly  I  do.     £'vc  good  reason  to  remember  it 
But  go  on." 

6* 


66  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"Well,  that  night,"  proceeds  Calderon,  "I  danced 
twice  with  Doiia  Inez,  and  made  many  sweet  speeches 
to  her.  Once  I  went  farther,  and  squeezed  her  pretty 
hand.  She  wasn't  angry,  or,  at  all  events,  didn't  say 
or  show  it.  Surely  after  such  encouragement,  I  may 
ask  that  hand  in  marriage  with  fair  presumption  of 
not  being  refrsecl.     What's  }T>ur  opinion?  " 

"  Your  chances  seem  good.  But  what  about  Don 
Gregorio  himself?  He  will  have  something  to  say  in 
the  matter." 

"  Too  much,  I  fear  ;  and  that's  just  what  I  do  fear. 
So  long  as  his  bit  of  grazing-land  was  worth  only 
some  thirty  thousand  dollars,  he  was  amiable  enough. 
Now  that,  by  this  gold  discovery,  it's  got  to  be  good 
value  for  ten  times  the  amount,  he'll  be  a  different 
man,  and,  likely  enough,  will  go  dead  against  me." 

"Likely  enough.  It's  the  way  of  the  world;  and 
therefore,  on  that  account,  j-ou  needn't  have  a  special 
spite  against  the  Senor  Montijo.  You're  sure  no  one 
else  stands  between  }'ou  and  yo\ir  sweetheart?  Or  is 
there  something  in  the  shape  of  a  rival?  " 

"■  Of  course  there  is,  —  a  score  of  them,  as  }'ou  ought 
to  know ;  same  as  with  jTourself,  De  Lara.  Suitors 
have  been  coming  and  going  with  both,  I  suppose, 
ever  since  either  was  old  enough  to  receive  them.  The 
last  I've  heard  of  as  paying  attentions  to  Inez  is  a 
young  naval  officer,  a  midshipman  on  board  a  British 
man-of-war  now  lying  in  the  harbor.  Indeed,  there 
are  two  of  them  spoken  of ;  one  said  to  be  your  rival, 
as  the  other  is  mine.  Shall  I  tell  you  what's  been  foi 
some  time  the  talk  of  the  town?  You  may  as  well 
know  it,  if  you  don't  alread3r." 

"  What?  "  asks  the  Creole  excitedly. 

' t  Why,  that  the  one  represented  as  your  competitor 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  67 

has  cut  out  all  Carmen's  other  admirers,  yourself 
among  the  rest." 

Bitter  words  to  the  ear  of  Francisco  de  Li*ra,  bring- 
ing the  red  color  to  his  cheeks,  as  if  they  had  been 
smitten  by  a  switch.  With  eyes  flashing,  and  full  of 
jealous  fire,  he  exclaims,  "  If  that  be  so,  I'll  do  as 
I've  said." 

"Do  what?" 

"  Kill  Carmen  Montijo.  I  swear  it.  I'm  in  ear- 
nest, Calderon,  and  mean  it.  If  it  be  as  you've  heard, 
I'll  surely  kill  her.  I've  the  right  to  her  life  by  her 
giving  me  the  right  to  her  love." 

"  But  did  she  do  that?  Has  she  confessed  to  loving 
you?" 

"  Not  in  words,  I  admit.  But  there  are  other  signs 
of  assent  strong  as  speech,  or  the  hand-squeezings 
you  speak  of.  Carmen  Montijo  may  be  cunning. 
Some  call  her  a  coquette.  All  I  know  is,  that  she  has 
led  me  to  believe  she  loved  me ;  and,  if  she's  been 
playing  a  false  game,  she  shall  rue  it;,  one  way  or  the 
other.  This  day  I'm  determined  to  ascertain  the  truth, 
by  offering  her  my  hand  in  marriage.  If  she  refuse  it, 
then  I'll  know  how  things  stand,  and  take  steps  for 
squaring  accounts  between  us.  She  shall  find  that 
Frank  Lara  is  not  the  sort  of  man  to  let  one  of  woman- 
kind either  laugh  at,  or  pla}T  tricks  with  him." 

"I  admire  your  spirit,  amigo.  I  catch  courage  from 
it,  and  will  imitate  your  action.  If  it  turn  out  that 
Inez  has  been  trifling  with  me,  I'll —  Well,  we  must 
first  find  what  answer  there  is  for  us,  which  we  shall, 
I  suppose,  soon  after  ascending  yonder  hill.  One  of 
us  may  be  accepted,  the  other  rejected.  In  that  case, 
one  will  hi  happy,  th3  other  wretched.  Or  both  may 
be  accepted,  and  then  we'll  both  be  blessed.     Taking 


68  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

things  at  their  worst, —  and  that  we  both  get  refused,— 
what  then?     Despair  and  a  speedy  end,  I  suppose?  " 

"  The  last  if  you  like,  but  not  the  first.  When  de- 
spair comes  to  Frank  Lara,  death  will  come  along  with 
it,  or  soon  after.  But  we  waste  time  talking  Let  us 
forward,  and  learn  our  fate  !  " 

With  stroke  of  spur,  urging  their  horses  into  a 
gallop,  the  two  caballeros  keep  on  ;  in  the  countenances 
of  both  a  cast  showing  them  half  hopeful,  half  doubting, 
such  as  may  be  seen  when  men  are  about  to  make 
(Some  desperate  attempt,  with  uncertainty  as  to  the 
result.  On  Calderon's,  notwithstanding  his  assumed 
evit}',  the  expression  is  almost  of  despair  :  on  that  of 
De  Lara,  it  is  more  of  a  demon. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN    ENCOUNTER    INEVITABLE. 

AFTER  having  delivered  their  speeches,  so  nearly 
alike  in  sound,  3-et  so  different  in  sense,  the  two 
ladies  on  the  housetop  stand  for  a  short  time  s  ^ent, 
their  eyes  turned  toward  the  approaching  horsemen. 
These  are  still  more  than  a  mile  off,  and,  to  the  ordina- 
ry eye,  only  distinguishable  as  mounted  men  wearing 
cloaks, —  one  of  scarlet  color,  the  other  slsy-blue.  But, 
despite  the  distance,  the  young  girls  easily  identify 
them,  both  simultaneously,  and  in  tones  somewhat  con- 
temptuous, pronouncing  their  names. 

"  Yes,"    says  Carmen,  speaking  in  full  assurance, 
with  a  lorgnette  raised  to  her  eyes,  hitherto  bent  upon 


A  STORY    OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  69 

the  British  war-ship.  "No  truer  tj-pes  of  what  I've 
called  them  than  Francisco  de  Lara  and  Faustino  Cal- 
deron." 

The  frown  that  came  over  her  face  at  first  sight  of 
them  remains  upon  it  as  she  continues  regarding  them 
through  the  glass.  After  an  interval,  she  adds  inter- 
rogatively, and  with  a  certain  uneasiness  of  manner, 
"  Think  you  they're  coming  to  the  house,  Inez?  " 

"  That  is  very  likely  ;  I  should  say,  almost  certain.' ' 

"  What  can  be  bringing  them  ?  "  mechanically  queries 
Carmen,  with  an  air  of  increased  vexation. 

"  Their  horses,  aunt,"  rejoins  the  niece  jestingly. 

"  Don't  jest,  Inez.     It's  too  serious." 

"  What's  too  serious?  " 

"  Why,  these  fellows  coming  hither.  1  wonder  what 
they  can  be  wanting." 

"You  needn't  wonder  at  that,"  says  Inez,  still  speak- 
ing jocularly.  "I  can  tell  3-ou  what  one  of  them  wants, 
and  that's  Don  Francisco  de  Lara.  He  is  desirous  to 
have  a  look  at  the  mistress  of  this  mansion." 

' '  And  Don  Faustino  Calderon  is  no  doubt  equally 
desirous  to  have  a  look  at  her  niece,"  retorts  the  aunt 
in  like  bantering  tone. 

"  He's  quite  welcome.  He  may  look  at  me  till  he 
strain  his  ugly  eyes  out.  It  won't  make  any  impres- 
sion." 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  sa}  the  same  for  Don  Francisco. 
On  me  his  looks  do  make  an  impression, —  one  far  from 
being  either  pleasant  or  favorable." 

"  It  wasn't  always  so,  tia?" 

"  No,  I  admit.     I  only  wish  it  had  boen." 

"But  why?" 

»•  Because  now  I  shoul  In't  need  to  be  afraid  of 
him. 


70  THE  FLAG  OP  DISTRESS. 

"  Afraid  of  him !     Surely  3rou're  not  that  r  " 

"  Well,  no  —  not  exactly  —  still ' '  — 

She  speaks  hesitating^,  and  in  disjointec  phrases, 
her  head  hung  down,  with  a  red  spot  upon  her  cheeks, 
as  though  she  had  some  reason  for  reticence, —  a  secret 
she  scarce  likes  to  disclose.  Then  a  quick  change 
comes  over  her  countenance  ;  and,  bending  closer  to  the 
other,  she  asks,  "  Can  I  trust  3'ou  with  a  confidence, 
Inez?" 

"  Why  need  you  ask  that?  You've  already  trusted 
me  with  one  in  telling  me  you  love  Don  Eduardo 
Crozier." 

"  Now  I  give  you  another:  I  once  loved  Don  Fran- 
cisco de  Lara." 

"Indeed?" 

"  No,  no !  "  rejoins  Carmen  quickly,  and  as  if  half 
repenting  the  avowal.  "Not  loved  him:  that's  not 
true.     I  onty  came  near  it." 

"And  now?" 

"  I  hate  him." 

"  Wiry,  may  I  ask?     What  has  changed  }'OU?  " 

"  That's  easily  answered.  Listen,  Ifiez,  and  you 
shall  have  the  explanation.  When  I  first  met  him,  I 
was  much  jxmnger  than  now,  —  a  mere  girl,  full  of 
girlish  fancies,  romantic,  as  called.  They  may  not 
be  gone  yet,  — not  all.  But  whatever  of  them  remains 
no  longer  turns  towards  Francisco  de  Lara.  I  thought 
him  handsome  ;  and,  in  a  sense,  so  is  he.  In  person, 
you'll  admit,  he's  all  man  may  or  need  be,  —  a  sort 
of  Apollo  or  Hyperion.  But  in  mind  —  ah,  Inez, 
that  man  is  a  very  satyr,  in  heart  and  soul  a  Mephis- 
topheles.  I  only  discovered  it  when  I  became  better 
acquainted  with  him.     Then  I  hated  Vim,  and  do  sc 

Btill." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  71 

44  But  why  should  you  be  af  ."aid  of  him?  " 

Carmen  does  not  reply  promptly.  Clearly  she  has 
cot  yet  given  the  whole  of  her  confidence :  there  ia 
something  withheld. 

Inez,  whose  sympathies  are  now  enlisted,  —  seeing 
that  her  aunt  has  some  secret  cause  for  suffering,  — 
presses  for  the  explanation.  She  does  so  entreatingly, 
in  the  language  of  sisterly  affection. 

"  Carmen,  dear  Carmen  !  tell  me  what  it  is.  Have 
you  ever  given  Don  Francisco  a  claim  to  call  you  his 
novia?  " 

"  Never!  Neither  that,  nor  any  thing  of  the  kind. 
He  has  no  claim,  and  I  no  compromise.  The  only 
thing  I've  reason  to  regret  is  having  listened  to  cer- 
tain flattering  speeches  without  resenting  them." 

"Pst!  What  does  that  signify  ?  Wiry,  Don  Faus- 
tino  has  made  flattering  speeches  to  me  (scores  of 
them),  called  me  all  sorts  of  endearing  names;  does 
so  whenever  we  two  are  together  alone.  I  only  laugh 
at  him." 

"  Ah !  Faustino  Calderon  is  not  Francisco  de  Lara. 
They  are  men  of  very  different  characters.  In  the 
behavior  of  3'our  admirer,  there's  only  a  little  of  the 
ludicrous  :  in  that  of  mine,  there  ma}'  be  a  great  deal 
of  danger.  But  let  us  cease  discussing  them.  There's 
no  time  for  that  now.  The  question  is,  Are  the}-  com- 
ing on  to  the  house?  " 

"  I  think  there  can  be  no  question  about  it.  Like 
enough  thejT,ve  heard  that  we're  soon  going  awa}-,  and 
are  about  to  honor  us  with  a  farewell  visit." 

"  Would  it  were  on3y  that !  But,  visit  of  whatever 
kind,  'tis  extremely  ill  timed,  and  may  be  awkward." 

44  How  so?" 

4<  Supposing  they  should  stay  till  our  English  friends 


72  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

arrive?  You  know  'tis  near  the  hour  they  were  invited 
to  ride  out  with  us.  Twelve,  father  told  them,  he  says. 
It's  now  half-past  eleven ;  and,  if  the  four  should  meet 
here,  wouldn't  we  be  in  a  dilemma?  It's  very  vexa= 
tious  —  the  coining  of  these  two  cavaliers." 

"  Let  them  come,  who  cares?     I  don't." 

"But  I  do.  If  papa  were  at  home,  I  mightn't  so 
much  mind  it.  But,  just  now,  I've  no  desire  to  see 
De  Lara  alone,  and  still  less  while  being  visited  by 
Don  Eduardo.  They're  both  demonios,  though  in  a 
very  different  wa}' ;  and,  sure  as  fate,  there' d  be  trouble, 
perhaps  a  fight  between  them.  That  wouldn't  be  at 
all  pleasant.  But  let  us  hope  our  friends  from  the 
ship  won't  get  here  till  our  shore  friends,  or  enemies 
I  should  rather  style  them,  have  done  their  devofrs, 
az:d  gone  away." 

"  But  our  ship-friends  will  be  here  before  that.  I 
declare  they're  on  the  way  now.     Look  yonder." 

Iiiez  points  over  the  ba}-,  in  the  direction  *of  the 
British  frigate,  where  a  boat  is  in  the  water  under  the 
ship's  beam.  The  sun,  reflected  from  dripping  oar- 
blades,  shows  that  they  are  in  motion.  And,  while  the 
girls  continue  gazing,  the  boat  is  seen  to  separate 
from  the  ship's  side,  and  put  shoreward,  straight 
towards  the  sand-spit  which  shoots  out  in  front  of 
Don  Gregorio's  dwelling.  The  rowers  are  all  dressed 
alike  ;  the  measured  stroke  of  their  oars  betokening 
that  the  boat  belongs  to  the  man-o'-war.  But  the 
young  ladies  do  not  conjecture  about  that ;  nor  have 
they  any  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  two  of  the  figures 
seated  in  the  stern-sheets.  Those  uniforms  of  dark 
blue,  with  the  gold  buttons,  and  yellow  cap-bands,  are 
too  well  known  not  to  be  recognizable  at  any  distance 
to  which  love's  glances  could  possibly  penetrate.    Thej? 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOCJTH   SEA.  73 

are  the  guests  expected,  for  whom  the  spare  horses 
stand  saddled  in  tie  patio.  For  Don  Gregorio,  net 
displeased  with  certain  delicate  attentions  which  the 
young  British  officers  have  been  paying  to  the  female 
members  of  his  famil}',  has  invited  them  to  visit  him, 
ride  out  along  with  the  ladies,  and,  on  return,  stay  to 
dinner.  He  knows  that  a  treat  of  this  kind  will  be 
pleasing  to  those  he  has  asked,  and,  before  leaving 
home,  has  given  orders  for  the  steeds  to  be  saddled. 

It  is  not  the  first  time  Crozier  and  Cadwallader  have 
been  to  the  Spaniard's  house,  nor  the  first  to  stretch 
their  limbs  under  his  dining- table.  But  it  may  be  the 
last,  at  least  while  that  table  is  spread  in  his  present 
abode ;  for  in  truth  it  is  to  be  a  farewell  visit.  But 
along  with  this  understanding  another  has  been  entered 
into.  The  acquaintance  commenced  in  California  is  to 
be  renewed  at  Cadiz,  when  "The  Crusader  "  goes  thith- 
er, which  she  is  ere  long  expected  to  do.  But  for  such 
expectation,  Carmen  Montijo  and  Inez  Alvarez  would 
not  be  so  high  hearted  at  the  prospect  of  a  leave-taking 
so  near.  Less  painful  on  this  account,  it  might  have 
been  even  pleasant,  but  for  what  they  see  on  the  oppo- 
site side,  —  the  horsemen  coming  from  the  town.  An 
encounter  between  the  two  pairs  gives  promise  to  mar 
the  happj*  intercourse  of  the  afternoon. 

"They'll  meet,  they  must !  "  says  Carmen,  speak- 
ing apprehensively. 

"  Let  them,"  rejoins  Inez  in  a  tone  of  nonchalance. 
«  What  if  they  do?" 

"What !  They  may  quarrel.  I'm  almost  sure  they 
will." 

"  No  fear  for  that ;  and,  if  they  should,  where' s  the 
danger?  You,  such  a  believer  in  the  romantic,  stickler 
for  old  knight-errantry,  instead  of  regretting  it,  should 


74  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

he  glad.  Look  there !  Loveu  coming  from  all  sUles, 
—  suitois  by  land,  and  suitors  by  sea !  No  lady  of  the 
troubadour  times  ever  saw  the  like :  none  was  ever 
honored  bjT  such  a  rivalry.  Come,  Carmen,  be  proud ! 
Stand  firm  on  your  castle-keep.  Show  j-ourself  wor- 
thy to  receive  this  splendid  adoration." 

"  Inez,  you  don't  know  the  danger." 

"  There  is  none.  If  the}r  should  come  into  collision, 
and  have  a  fight,  let  them.  I've  no  fear  for  mine.  If 
Willie  Cadwallader  isn't  a  match  for  Faustino  Calderon, 
then  he's  not  match  or  mate  for  me  —  never  shall  be." 

"  Sobrina,  you  astonish  me!  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  such  a  demonio.  The  Moorish  blood,  I  suppose. 
Your  words  make  me  almost  as  wicked  as  yourself. 
It  isn't  for  that  I'm  afraid.  I've  as  much  confidence 
in  my  lover  as  jtou  in  yours.  No  fear  that  Senor 
Crozier  will  cower  before  Francisco  de  Lara.  If  he 
do,  I  shall  take  back  my  heart  a  second  time,  and 
carry  it  unscathed  to  Cadiz." 

Meanwhile,  the  man-o'-war's  boat  has  been  drawing 
in  towards  the  beach,  heading  for  a  little  embayment, 
formed  by  the  shore-line  and  the  sand-bar  already 
spoken  of.  The  horsemen  coming  from  the  toAvn-side 
do  not  see  it ;  nor  can  the  crew  of  the  boat  perceive 
them.  The  land-ridge  is  between  the  two  parties,  its 
crest  concealing  them  from  one  another.  They  are 
approaching  it  at  a  like  rate  of  speed ;  for,  although 
the  horses  appear  to  be  in  a  gallop,  it  is  only  a  fancy 
gait  fashionable  among  Spanish  Californians,  its  pur* 
pose  to  exhibit  equestrian  skill.  The  two  horsemen, 
looking  up  the  hill,  see  two  heads  on  the  housetop, 
and  know  that  ladies'  ej'es  are  upon  them.  Surrepti- 
tiously goaded  by  the  spur,  their  steeds  plunge  anc' 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  75 

eurvet,  apparently  advancing  at  a  rapid  pace,  but  in 
reality  covering  little  ground.  At  length  both  parties 
disappear  from  the  eyes  of  those  on  the  azotea.  They 
Lave  gone  under  the  brow  of  the  hill,  which,  overhang- 
ing for  a  short  distance,  shuts  out  a  view  of  the  road. 
as  also  the  strip  of  sandy  shore. 

Unseen  from  above,  the  man-o'-war's  boat  beaches; 
and  the  two  officers  spring  out  upon  the  strand.  One 
of  them,  turning,  says  something  to  the  cockswain, 
who  has  remained  in  the  stern-sheets,  with  the  tiller- 
ropes  held  in  hand.  It  is  an  order,  with  instructions 
about  where  and  when  he  is  to  attend  them  for  their 
return  to  the  ship. 

"  At  the  new  wharf  in  the  harbor,"  Crozier  is  heard 
to  say  ;  for  it  is  he  who  commands,  on  account  of  sen- 
iority in  rank. 

His  order  given,  the  boat  shoves  off,  and  is  rowed 
back  toward  the  ship ;  while  the  officers  commence 
climbing  the  slope  to  get  upon  the  shore-road.  At  the 
same  time  the  horsemen  are  ascending  from  the  oppo- 
site side.  Soon  both  parties  are  again  within  view  of 
those  on  the  housetop ;  but  neither  as  yet  sees  the 
other,  or  has  any  suspicion  of  their  mutual  proximity, 
The  crest  of  the  ridge  is  still  between ;  and,  in  a  few 
seconds  more,  they  will  sight  one  another.  The  men 
afoot  are  advancing  at  about  the  same  rate  of  speed  as 
those  on  horseback.  The  latter  have  ceased  showing 
off,  as  if  satisfied  with  the  impression  they  must  have 
already  made,  and  are  now  approaching  in  tranquil 
gait,  but  with  an  air  of  subdued  triumph,  —  the  mock 
modesty  of  the  matador,  who,  with  blood-stained  sword, 
bends  meekly  before  the  box  where  beauty  sits  smiling 
approbation.  The  two  pedestrians  climb  the  hill  less 
ceremoniously.     Glad  to  stretch  their  limbs  upon  land, 


76  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

shake  the  knots  out  of  them,  as  the  junior  gleeful^ 
remarks,  they  eagerly  scale  the  steep  ;  not  silent  either, 
but  laughing  and  shouting  like  a  couple  of  schoolboys 
abroad  for  an  afternoon's  holiday. 

Suddenly  coming  wi.hin  view  of  the  house,  the} 
bring  their  boisterous  humor  under  restraint  at  sight 
of  two  heads  appearing  above  the  roof;  for  they  know 
to  whom  these  belong,  and  note  that  the  faces  are 
turned  towards  them. 

At  the  same  instant  the  horsemen,  also,  see  the 
heads,  and  observe  that  the  faces  areno£  turned  towards 
them.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  averted,  the  ladies 
looking  aslant  in  another  direction. 

Some  chagrin  in  this,  after  all  their  grand  caracol- 
ing and  feats  of  equitation,  that  must  have  been  wit- 
nessed by  the  fair  spectators.  At  what  are  these  now 
gazing  ?  Is  it  a  ship  sailing  up  the  bay,  or  something 
else  on  the  water?  No  matter  what,  and  whether  on 
land  or  water ;  enough  for  the  cavaliers  to  think  they 
are  being  slightingly  received.  Disconcerted,  they 
seek  an  explanation,  mutually  questioning  one  another. 
Before  either  can  make  answer  in  speech,  both  have 
it  before  their  eyes,  in  the  shape  of  two  British  naval 
officers. 

Like  themselves,  the  latter  have  just  reached  the 
summit  of  the  ridge,  and  are  coming  on  towards  Don 
Gregorio's  gate.  It  is  midway  between  ;  and,  keeping 
on  at  the  same  rate  of  speed,  they  will  meet  directlv 
in  front  of  it, 

Neither  pair  has  ever  set  eyes  on  the  other  before 
for  all  this,  there  is  an  expression  on  the  faces  of  all 
four  that  tells  of  mutual  surmises  cf  no  friendly  nature. 

Calderon  says  to  De  Lara,  sotto  voce,  "  The  English 
officers !  " 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  77 

Cadwallader  whispers  to  Crozier,  "  The  fellows  we've 
heard  about,  —  our  rivals,  Ned;  like  ourselves,  I  sup- 
pose, going  to  visit  the  girls." 

De  Lara  makes  no  response  to  Calderon;  neither 
does  Crozier  to  Cadwallader;  there  is  not  time. 
The}-  are  all  close  up  to  the  gate,  and  there  is  only  its 
breadth  between  them. 

They  have  arrived  there  at  the  same  instart  of  time, 
and  simultaneously  make  stop  —  face  to  face,  silenc« 
on  both  sides  ;  not  a  word  offered  in  exchange.  But 
looks  are  quite  as  expressive,  —  glances  that  speak  the 
language  of  jealous  rivalry,  of  rage  with  difficulty 
suppressed. 

It  is  a  question  of  precedence  as  to  who  shall  first 
pass  through  the  gate.  Their  hesitation  is  not  from 
any  courtesy,  but  the  reverse.  The  men  on  horseback 
look  down  on  those  afoot  contemptuously,  scornfully, 
threateningly,  too,  as  if  they  thought  of  riding  over, 
and  trampling  them  under  the  hoofs  of  their  horses. 
No  doubt  they  would  like  to  do  it,  and  might  make 
trial,  were  the  young  officers  unarmed.  But  they  are 
not.  Crozier  carries  a  pistol ;  Cadwallader,  his  mid- 
shipman's dirk,  both  appearing  outside  their  uniforms. 

For  a  period  of  several  seconds'  duration,  the  rivals 
stand  vis-a-vis,  neither  venturing  to  advance.  Around 
them  is  a  nimbus  of  angry  electricity  that  needs  but  a 
spark  to  kindle  it  into  furious  flame.  A  single  word 
would  do  it.  This  word  spoken,  and  two  of  the  four 
may  never  enter  Don  Gregorio's  gate ;  at  least,  not 
alive. 

It  is  not  spoken.  The  only  speech  is  one  which 
passes  from  Crozier  to  Cadwallader,  not  in  a  whisper, 
but  aloud,  and  without  regard  to  the  effect  it  may  nave 
on  the  Californians, 

2* 


78  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Come  along,  Will!  We've  something  better 
before  us  than  stand  shilly-shallying  here.  Heato 
after  me,  shipmate  !  " 

Crozier' s  speech  cuts  the  Gordian  knot ;  and  the 
officers,  gliding  through  the  gateway,  advance  along 
the  avenue.  With  faces  now  turned  towards  the  house, 
they  see  the  ladies  still  upon  the  azotea.  Soon  as  near 
tnough  for  Carmen  to  see  it,  Crozier  draws  out  the 
treasured  tress,  and  fastens  it  in  his  cap,  behind  the 
gold  band.  It  falls  over  his  shoulder  like  a  cataract 
of  liquid  amber.  Cadwallader  does  likewise ;  and 
from  his  cap  also  streams  a  tress  black  as  the  plumage 
of  a  raven.  The  two  upon  the  housetop  appear 
pleased  by  this  display.  They  show  their  approval  by 
imitating  it.  Each  raises  hand  to  her  riding-hat ;  and, 
when  these  are  withdrawn,  a  curl  of  hair  is  seen  twin- 
ing over  their  toquillas,  —  one  chestnut-brown,  the 
other  golden-hued. 

Scarcely  is  this  love-telegraphy  exchanged,  when 
the  two  Californians  come  riding  up  the  avenue  at  full 
speed.  Though  lingering  at  the  gate,  and  still  far  off, 
De  Lara  has  observed  the  affair  of  the  tresses,  and 
understood  the  symbolism  of  the  act.  Exasperated 
beyond  bounds,  he  can  no  longer  control  himself,  and 
cares  noJ:  what  may  come.  At  his  instigation,  Calde- 
ron  spurs  on  by  his  side,  the  two  tearing  furiously 
along.  Their  purpose  is  evident,  — to  force  the  pedes- 
trians from  the  path,  and  so  humble  them  in  the  e3*es 
of  their  sweethearts.  On  his  side,  Crozier  remains 
cool,  admonishing  Cadwallader  to  do  the  same.  He 
feels  the  power  of  possession,  assured  by  those  smiles 
that  the  citadel  is  theirs.  It  is  for  the  outsiders  to 
tij&ke  the  assault. 

4 'Give  a  clear  gangwa}T,  Will,"  he  says,  "and  let 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  79 

them  pass.  We  can  talk  to  the  gentlemen  after- 
wards. 

Both  step  back  among  the  manzanita  bushes ;  and 
the  ginete  go  galloping  past;  De  Lara,  on  Crozier's 
side,  scowling  down,  as  if  he  would  annihilate  him  with 
a  look.  The  scowl  is  returned  with  interest,  though 
the  officer  still  reserves  speech.  On  the  other  edge  of 
the  avenue,  the  action  is  a  little  different.  The  mid- 
shipman, full  of  youthful  freak,  determines  on  having 
his  lark.  He  sees  the  chance,  and  cannot  restrain 
himself.  As  Calderon  sweeps  past,  he  draws  his  dirk, 
and  pricks  the  Californian's  horse  in  the  hip.  The 
animal,  maddened  by  the  pain,  bounds  to  one  side, 
and  then  shoots  off  at  increased  speed,  still  further 
heightened  by  the  fierce  exclamations  of  his  rider,  and 
the  mocking  laugh  sent  after  him  by  the  mid.  Under 
the  walls,  the  two  horsemen  come  to  a  halt,  neither 
having  made  much  by  their  bit  of  rude  bravadoism.  And 
they  know  they  will  have  a  reckoning  to  settle  for  it : 
at  least,  De  Lara  does  ;  for  on  the  brow  of  Crozier, 
coming  up,  he  can  read  the  determination  to  call  him 
to  account.  He  is  not  flurried  about  this.  On  the 
contrary,  he  has  courted  it,  knowing  himself  a  skilled 
swordsman,  and  dead  shot.  Eemembering  that  he  has 
already  killed  his  man,  he  can  await  with  equanimity 
the  challenge  he  has  provoked.  It  ;.s  not  fear  has 
brought  the  pallor  to  his  cheeks,  and  set  the  dark  seal 
upon  his  brow.  Both  spring  from  a  different  passion, 
observable  in  his  e^yes  as  he  turns  them  towards  the 
housetop  ;  for  the  ladies  are  still  there,  looking  down. 

Saluting,  he  says,  "  Dona  Carmen,  can  I  have  the 
honor  of  an  interview?  " 

The  lad}-  does  not  make  immediate  answer.  A  spec- 
tator of  all  that  has  passed,  she  ooserves  the  hostile 


80  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

attitude  between  the  two  sets  of  visitors .  To  receive 
both  at  the  same  time  will  be  more  than  embarrassing. 
With  their  passions  roused  to  such  a  pitch  of  angei,  it 
must  end  in  a  personal  encounter.  Her  duty  is  clear. 
She  is  mistress  of  the  house,  representing  her  father  in 
his  absence.  The  }Toung  officers  are  there  b}r  invita- 
tion.    At  thought  of  this,  she  no  longer  hesitates. 

"Not  now,  Don  Francisco  de  Lara,"  she  sa}-s,  an- 
swering his  question  ;  "  not  to-day.  We  must  beg  of 
you  to  excuse  us." 

"Indeed!"  rejoins  he  sneeringly.  "Will  it  be 
deemed  discourteous  in  me  to  ask  why  we  are  denied?" 

It  is  discourteous,  and  so  Dona  Carmen  deems  it. 
Though  she  does  not  tell  him  as  much  in  words,  he 
can  understand  it  from  her  reply. 

"You  are  quite  welcome  to  know  the  reason.  Wre 
have  an  engagement." 

"  Oh,  an  engagement !  " 

"Yes,  sir,  an  engagement,"  she  repeats,  in  a  tone 
telling  of  irritation.  "  Those  gentlemen  3-ou  see  are 
our  guests.  My  father  has  invited  them  to  spend  the 
da}r  with  us." 

"Ah!  3*our  father  has  invited  them!  How  very 
good  of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo  giving  his  hospitality 
to  gringos  !  And  Dona  Carmen  has  added  her  entrea- 
ties, no  doubt?" 

"Sir,"  saj's  Carmen,  no  longer  able  to  conceal  her 
indignation,  "your  speech  is  impertinent,  insulting. 
I  shall  listen  to  it  no  longer." 

Saying  this,  she  steps  back,  disappearing  behind  the 
parapet,  where  Inez  has  alread}T  concealed  herself,  at 
the  close  of  a  similar  short  but  stormy  dialogue  with 
Calderon. 

De  Lara,  a  lurid  look  in  his  eyes,  sits  in  his  saddle 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  81 

as  if  ill  a  stupor.  He  is  aroused  from  it  by  a  voice, 
Crozier's,  saving,  *•  You  appear  anxious  to  make  apol 
ogy  to  the  lady  :  3-ou  can  make  it  to  me." 

44  Carrail'*  exclaims  the  Creole,  starting,  and  glar- 
ing angrily  at  the  speaker.     "  Who  are  you?  " 

"  One  who  demands  an  apology  for  your  rude  be 
havior.,; 

44  You  will  not  get  it." 

44  Satisfaction,  then?  " 

44  That  to  your  heart's  content." 

44 1  shall  have  it  so.     Your  card,  sir." 

44  There,  take  it.     Yours?" 

The  bits  of  pasteboard  are  exchanged,  after  which 
De  Lara,  casting  another  glance  up  to  the  azotea, 
where  he  sees  nothing  but  blank  wall,  turns  his  horse's 
head,  and,  spitefully  plying  the  spur,  gallops  back 
down  the  avenue,  his  comrade  closely  following. 

Calderon  has  not  deemed  it  incumbent  upon  him 
to  ask  a  card  from  Cadwallader ;  nor  has  the  latter 
thought  it  necessary  to  demand  one  from  him.  The 
mid  is  quite  contented  with  what  he  has  done  with  his 
dirk. 

The  young  officers  enter  the  house  in  cheerful  confi- 
dence that  they  have  lost  nothing  by  the  encounter,  and 
that  those  inside  will  still  smilingly  receive  them. 


82  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A     SHIP    WITHOUT    SAILOB8. 

AMONG  the  vessels  tying  in  the  harbor  of  San 
Francisco  is  one  athwart  whose  stern  may  bfl 
read  the  name  "  El  Condor." 

She  is  a  ship  of  small  size,  some  five  or  six  hundred 
tons,  devoted  to  peaceful  commerce,  as  can  be  told  by 
certain  peculiarities  of  rig  and  structure  understood  by 
seamen. 

The  name  will  suggest  a  South  American  nationality, 
—  Ecuadorian,  Peruvian,  Bolivian,  or  Chilian,  —  since 
the  bird  after  which  she  has  been  baptized  is  found  in 
all  these  States.  Columbia  and  the  Argentine  Confed- 
eration can  also  claim  it. 

But  there  is  no  need  to  guess  at  the  particular  coun- 
try to  which  the  craft  in  question  belongs.  The  flag 
suspended  over  her  taffrail  declares  it  b}^  a  s}Tnbolism 
intelligible  to  those  who  take  an  interest  in  national 
insignia. 

It  is  a  tricolor,  —  the  orthodox  and  almost  universal 
red^  white,  and  blue  ;  not,  as  with  the  French,  disposed 
vertically,  but  in  two  horizontal  bands  ;  the  lower  one, 
crimson  red ;  the  upper,  half  white,  half  blue,  the  last 
contiguous  to  the  staff,  with  a  single  five-pointed  star 
set  centrally  in  its  field ;  this,  with  the  disposition  of 
colors,  proclaiming  the  ship  that  carries  them  to  be  of 
Chili. 

-She  is  not  the  only  Chilian  vessel  in  the  harbor  of 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  83 

San  Francisco.  Several  other  craft  are  there  that 
show  the  same  colors, — brigs,  barks,  schooners,  and 
6hips ;  for  the  spirited  little  South  Aii.erican  republic 
is  as  prosperous  as  enterprising,  and  iti  flag  waves  far 
and  wide  over  the  Pacific.  With  its  population  of 
skilled  miners,  it  has  been  among  the  first  of  foreign 
States  in  sending  a  large  representative  force  to  cradle 
the  gold  of  California.  Not  only  are  its  ships  lying  in 
the  ba}' ,  but  its  guasos  and  gambusinos  in  goodly  num- 
ber tread  the  streets  of  the  town  ;  while  many  of  the 
dark-eyed  damsels,  who  from  piazzas  and  balconies 
salute  the  passer-bty  with  seductive  smiles,  are  those 
charming  little  Chilenas  that  make  sad  havoc  with  the 
heart  of  almost  every  Jack-tar  who  visits  Valparaiso. 

On  the  ship  "El  Condor"  we  meet  not  much  that 
can  be  strictly  called  Chilian,  —  little  besides  the  vessel 
herself,  and  the  captain  commanding  her ;  not  com- 
manding her  sailors,  since  there  are  none  aboard,  hail- 
ing from  Chili  or  elsewhere.  Those  who  brought  her 
into  San  Francisco  Bay  have  abandoned  her,  —  gone 
off  to  the  gold-diggings.  Arriving  in  the  heat  of  the 
placer-fever,  they  have  preferred  seeking  fortune  with 
pick,  shovel,  and  pan,  to  handling  tarry  ropes  at  ten 
dollars  a  month.  Almost  on  the  instant  of  the  "  Con- 
dor's "  dropping  anchor,  they  deserted,  to  a  man,  leav- 
ing her  skipper  alone,  with  only  the  cook  for  a  compan- 
ion. Neither  is  the  latter  Chilian,  but  African,  a 
native  of  Zanzibar.  Neither  are  the  two  great  mon- 
keys observed  gambolling  about  the  deck ;  for  the 
climate  of  Chili,  lying  outside  the  equatorial  belt,  is 
too  cold  for  the  qaadrumana. 

Not  much  appearing  upon  the  "Condor"  would 
proclaim  her  a  South  American  ship ;  and  nothing  in 
her  cargo,  though  a  cargo  she  caries.     She  has  'ust 


84  THE  FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

arrived  from  a  trading- voyage  to  the  South  Sea  Isles 
extending  to  the  Indian  Archipelago,  whence  her  lad« 
ing,  —  a  varied  assortment,  consisting  of  tortoise-shell, 
spices,  mother-of  pearl,  Manila  cigars,  and  such  othei 
commodities  as  may  be  collected  among  the  Oriental 
islands.  Hence,  also,  two  large  myas  monkeys,  — 
better  known  as  orang-outangs,  —  seen  pla3'ing  about 
her  deck.     These  she  has  brought  from  Borneo. 

Only  a  small  portion  of  her  freight  had  been  con- 
signed to  San  Francisco ;  and  this  has  been  long  ago 
landed.  The  rest  remains  in  her  hold,  awaiting  trans- 
port to  Valparaiso.  How  soon  she  may  arrive  there, 
or  take  departure  from  her  present  anchorage,  is  a  ques- 
tion that  even  her  captain  cannot  answer.  If  asked,  he 
would  most  probably  reply,  "  Quien  sabe?"  and,  fur- 
ther pressed,  might  point  to  her  deserted  decks,  offering 
that  as  an  explanation  of  his  inability  to  satisf}T  the 
inquirer.  Her  captain,  Antonio  Lantanas  by  name, 
is  a  sailor  of  the  Spanish  American  tjTpe ;  and,  being 
this,  he  takes  crosses  and  disappointments  cooll}\ 
Even  the  desertion  of  his  crew  seems  scarcely  to  ruffle 
him  :  he  bears  it  with  a  patient  resignation  that  would 
be  quite  incomprehensible  to  either  English  or  Yankee 
skipper.  With  a  broad-brimmed  jipi-japa  hat,  shading 
his  thin,  swarth  features  from  the  sun,  he  lounges  all 
day  long  upon  his  quarter-deck,  with  elbows  usually 
rested  upon  the  capstan-head ;  his  sole  occupation 
being  to  roll  paper  cigarritos,  one  of  which  is  usually 
either  in  his  fingers,  or  between  his  lips.  If  he  at  any 
time  varies  this,  it  is  to  eat  his  meals,  or  take  a  turn 
at  play  with  his  pet  monkeys.  These  are  male  and 
female,  bo^h  full  of  fun  in  their  uncouth  fashion  ;  and 
Capt.  Lantanas  takes  it  out  of  them  by  occasionally 
touching  their  snouts  with  the  lighted  end  of  his  oiga 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  85 

rette.  laughing  to  see  them  scamper  off  scared  at  the 
singular  and  somewhat  painful  effect  of  fire. 

His  meals  are  served  regularly  three  times  a  day ) 
and  his  cook,  —  a  negro,  black  as  the  tar  upon  the  rat- 
line ropes, —  after  having  served  them,  returns  to  an 
idleness  equalling  his  own.  He,  too,  has  his  diveision 
with  the  orangs,  approaching  much  nearer  to  them  in 
physical  appearance,  and  for  this  reason,  perhaps,  to 
them  a  more  congenial  playmate. 

Once  a  day  the  skipper  steps  into  his  gig,  and  rowa 
himself  ashore,  but  not  to  search  for  sailors :  he 
knows  that  would  be  an  idle  errand.  True,  there  are 
plenty  of  them  in  San  Francisco ;  scores  parading  its 
streets,  and  other  scores  seated  or  standing  within  its 
taverns  and  restaurants.  But  they  are  all  on  the  spree  ; 
all  rollicking,  and,  if  not  rich,  hoping  soon  to  be.  Not 
a  man  of  them  could  be  coaxed  to  take  service  on 
board  an  out-bound  ship  for  a  wage  less  than  would 
make  the  vo}rage  unprofitable  to  her  owners. 

As  the  Chilian  skipper  is  not  only  master,  but  pro- 
prietor, of  his  own  craft,  he  has  no  intention  to  stir 
under  the  circumstances,  but  is  contented  to  wait  till 
times  change,  and  tars  become  inclined  again  to  go  to 
sea.  When  this  may  be,  and  the  "Condor"  shall 
have  spread  her  canvas  wings  for  a  further  flight  to 
Valparaiso,  he  has  not  the  remotest  idea.  He  enters 
the  town,  but  to  meet  other  skippers  with  ships  crew- 
less  as  his  own,  and  exchange  condolences  on  their 
common  destitution.  On  a  certain  day,  that  on  which 
we  are  introduced  to  him,  he  has  not  sculled  himself 
ashore,  but  abides  upon  his  vessel,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  one  who  has  sent  him  a  message. 

Although  San  Francisco  is  fast  becoming  transformed 
into   an   American  city,  and   alread}7,  has  its   several 

9 


86  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

newspapers,  there  is  among  them  a  small  sheet  printed 
in  Spanish,  by  name  "El  Diario."  In  this  Capt, 
Lantanas  has  advertised  his  vessel,  open  for  freight,  or 
passage,  bound  for  Valparaiso,  and  to  call  at  interme- 
diate ports,  Panama  among  the  number.  The  adver- 
tisement directs  reference  to  be  made  to  a  shipping- 
agent,  by  name  Don  Tomas  Silvestre.  In  answer  to 
it,  Capt.  Lantanas  has  received  a  letter  from  a  gentle- 
man who  has  alread}^  communicated  with  his  agent,  and 
who  has  promised  to  present  himself  on  board  the 
"  Condor"  by  twelve  meridian  of  this  day. 

Although  a  stranger  to  the  port  of  San  Francisco, 
the  Chilian  skipper  has  some  knowledge  of  his  corre- 
spondent ;  for  Don  Tomas  has  the  da}'  before  informed 
him  that  a  gentleman,  from  whom  he  may  expect  to 
hear,  —  the  same  whose  name  is  signed  to  the  letter,  — 
is  a  man  of  wrealth,  a  large  landed  proprietor,  whose 
acres  lie  contiguous  to  the  rising  city  of  San  Francisco, 
and  for  this  reason  enormously  increased  in  value  by 
the  influx  of  gold-seeking  immigrants.  What  this 
important  personage  ma}T  want  with  him,  Lantanas 
cannot  tell ;  for  Silvestre  himself  has  not  been  made 
aware  of  it,  the  gentleman  declining  to  state  his  busi- 
ness to  ai:ry  other  than  the  captain  of  the  ship. 

On  the  morning  of  the  appointed  day,  'eaning,  as 
usual,  against  his  capstan,  and  purring  his  paper  cigar, 
the  Chilian  skipper  is  not  in  a  mood  for  pla}*ing  with 
his  monkey  pets.  His  mind  is  given  to  a  more  serious 
matter ;  his  whole  thoughts  being  absorbed  in  conjec- 
turing for  what  purpose  his  unknown  correspondent 
may  be  seeking  the  interview.  He  is  not  without  sur- 
mises, in  which  he  is  assisted  by  something  he  hag 
heard  wh  le  mixing  in  Spanish  circles  ashore,  —  this, 
*b\t   the   land-owner  in   question   has  lately  sold   hi? 


A  STOES"  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  Si 

land,  realizing  an  immense  sum,  half  a  million  dollars 
being  rumored.  Furthermore,  that  being  a  Spaniard, 
and  neither  Mexican  nor  Californian,  he  is  about  to 
return  to  Spain,  taking  with  him  his  household  gods,  — 
Lares,  Penates,  and  all.  These  could  not  be  stowed 
in  a  single  state-room,  but  would  require  a  whole  ship, 
or  a  goodlv  portion  of  one.  The  "  Condor"  has  still 
plenty  of  room  to  spare.  Her  hold  is  not  half  full , 
and  her  cabin  has  accommodation  for  several  passen- 
gers. It  may  be  on  this  veiy  business  his  correspond- 
ent is  comiug  aboard.  Capt.  Lantanas  so  interro- 
gates himself  while  standing  upon  his  quarter-deck, 
and  with  the  glowing  coal  of  his  cigarrito  fending  off 
his  hairy  familiars,  who,  in  their  play,  at  times  intrude 
apon  him.  It  pleases  him  to  think  he  maj-  have  sur- 
mised correctly ;  and,  while  still  indulging  in  conjec- 
ture, he  sees  something  which  puts  an  end  to  it.  This 
is  a  shore-boat,  with  a  single  pair  of  rowers,  and  a 
gentleman,  evidently  a  landsman,  seated  in  the  stern- 
sheets,  to  all  appearance  coming  on  for  the  "  Condor.' ' 
Capt.  Lantanas  steps  to  the  side  of  his  ship,  and, 
standing  in  her  waist,  awaits  the  arrival  of  his  visitor. 
As  the  boat  draws  near,  he  makes  out  a  man,  dressed 
in  semi-Californian  costume,  such  as  is  worn  by  the 
higher  class  of  haciendados.  The  skipper  can  have  no 
question  as  to  who  it  is  :  if  he  has,  it  is  soon  answered  ; 
for  the  boat,  touching  the  ship's  side,  is  instantly  made 
fast.  The  Californian  mounts  the  man-ropes,  and, 
stepping  down  upon  the  deck,  hands  Capt.  Lantanas 
his  card. 

He  who  has  presented  himself  on  the  quarter-deck 
of  the  "  Condor"  is  a  man  in  3-ears  well  up  to  sixty, 
and  somewhat  above  medium  height,  taller  than  he 
appears^  through  a  slight  stoop  in  tbe  shoulders.     His 


88  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

step,  though  not  tottering,  shows  vigor  impaired ;  and 
upon  his  countenance  are  the  traces  of  recent  illness, 
with  strength  not  yet  restored.  His  complexion  is 
clear,  rather  rubicund,  and  in  health  might  be  more  sc  ; 
while  his  hail,  both  on  head  and  chin  (the  latter  a  long, 
flowing  beard),  is  snow  white.  It  could  never  havo 
been  very  dark,  but  more  likely  of  the  color  called 
sandy.  This,  with  grayish-blue  eyes,  and  features  show- 
ing some  points  of  Celtic  conformation,  would  argue 
him  either  no  Spaniard,  or,  if  so,  one  belonging  to  the 
province  of  Biscay. 

This  last  he  is  ;  for  the  correspondent  of  Capt.  Lan 
tanas  is  Don  Gregorio  Montijo. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    CHARTER-PARTY. 

SOON  as  assured,  by  a  glance  at  the  card  given 
him,  that  his  visitor  is  the  gentleman  who  has 
written  to  appoint  an  interview,  Capt.  Lantanas  po- 
litely salutes,  and,  jivi-japa  in  hand,  stands  waiting  to 
hear  what  the  haciendado  may  have  to  say. 

The  latter,  panting  after  the  effort  made  in  ascend- 
ing the  man-ropes,  takes  a  moment's  time  to  recover 
breath;  then,  returning  the  skipper's  bott,  he  interro- 
gates, "  Capt.  Lantanas,  I  presume?  " 

"  Si,  senor"  responds  the  master  of  the  "  Condor," 
with  a  bow  of  becoming  humility  to  a  man  reputed  so 
rich;  then  adding,  "A  dispocion  de  V."  ("At  your 
service.") 


A  STORY    OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  89 

"Well,  captain,"  rejoins  Don  Gregorio,  "1  shall 
Lake  it  for  granted  that  you  know  who  I  am.  Don 
Tonias  Silvestre  has  informed  3*ou,  has  he  not?" 

"He  has,  senor." 

"  And  3'ou've  received  my  letter?  " 

"  JSi,  senor." 

"  That's  all  right,  then.  And  now  to  proceed  to  th« 
business  that  has  brought  me  aboard  your  ship.  Hav- 
ing seen  your  advertisement  in  the  "  Diario,"  I  com- 
municated with  Don  Tom  as,  but  only  so  far  as  to  get 
your  correct  address,  with  some  trifling  particulars.  For 
the  rest,  I've  thought  it  best  to  deal  directly  with  your- 
self, as  the  matter  I  have  in  hand  is  too  important  to  be 
altogether  intrusted  to  an  agent.  In  short,  it  requires 
confidence,  if  not  secrecy ;  and  from  what  I've  heard 
of  you,  captain,  I  feel  sure  I  can  confide  in  }~ou." 

"  You  compliment  me,  Senor  Montijo." 

"No,  no!  nothing  of  the  kind,  I  but  speak  from 
me  impression  Silvestre  has  given  me  of  your  charac- 
ter. But  now  to  business.  Your  ship  is  advertised 
for  freight,  or  passage?  " 

"  Either,  or  both." 

"  Bound  for  Valparaiso  and  intermediate  ports?  " 

"  Anywhere  down  the  coast." 

"  Have  you  any  passengers  already  engaged?  " 

"  Not  any  as  yet." 

"  How  many  can  you  take?  " 

"Well,  senor,  to  speak  truth,  my  craft  is  not 
intended  to  carry  passengers.  She's  a  trading-vessel, 
as  you  see.  But,  if  you'll  step  down  to  the  cabin,  you 
can  judge  for  yourself.  There's  the  saloon  (not  very 
large,  it  is  true) ,  and  sleeping-accommodation  for  six, 
—  two  snug  state  rooms,  that  will  serve,  if  need  be., 
fo~  ladies." 


90  THE  FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"  That  will  do.  Now  about  the  freight.  Don  To 
inas  tells  me  3'ou  have  some  cargo  aboard.'' 

"  A  portion  of  my  ship  is  already  occupied." 

"  That  won't  signify  to  me.  I  suppose  there's 
enough  room  left  for  something  that  weighs  less  than  a 
ton,  and  isn't  of  any  great  bulk.  Say  it  will  take  half 
a  score  of  cubic  feet :  you  can  find  stowage  for  that?  " 
.    "  Oh,  3Tes  !  much  more  than  that." 

41  So  far  good.  And  you  can  accommodate  three 
passengers,  —  a  gentleman  and  two  ladies?  In  short, 
myself  and  the  female  members  of  my  family,  —  my 
daughter  and  grand-daughter  ? ' ' 

"  Will  the  Senor  Montljo  step  into  the  '  Condor's  ' 
cabin,  and  see  for  himself?  " 

uBy  all  means." 

Capt.  Lantanas  leads  clown  the  stairway,  his  visitor 
following.  The  saloon  is  inspected  ;  after  it  the  sleep- 
ing-rooms, right  and  left. 

"  Just  the  thing,"  says  Don  Gregorio,  speaking  in 
soliloqiry,  and  evidently  satisfied.  "  It  will  do  admi- 
rably," he  adds,  addressing  himself  to  the  skipper. 
"  And  now,  Capt.  Lantanas,  about  terms.  What  are 
they  to  be?" 

"  That,  senor,  will  depend  on  what  is  wanted.  To 
what  port  do  3'ou  wish  me  to  take  you?  " 

"  Panama.  'Tis  one  of  the  ports  mentioned  in  your 
ad  vertisement  ?  ' ' 

"  It  is,  senor." 

"  Well,  for  this  freight —  as  I've  told  you,  about  a 
ton,  with  some  trifling  household  effects  —  and  the  three 
passengers,  how  much?  " 

"  The  terms  of  freight,  as  you  may  be  aware,  are 
usually  rated  according  to  the  class  of  goods.  Is  it 
gold,  Don  Gregorio?  From  your  descripti<-jn,  I  sup- 
pose it  is." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  91 

The  skippei  has  guessed  aright.  It  is  gold  (nearly 
a  ton  of  it)  accruing  to  Don  Gregorio  from  the  sale 
of  his  land,  for  which  he  has  been  paid  in  dust  and 
nuggets,  at  that  time  the  only  coin  in  California, 
indeed,  the  only  circulating  medium,  since  notes  were 
not  to  be  had.  The  ex-haciendado  is  by  no  means  a 
niggardly  man  :  still  he  would  like  to  have  his  treasure 
transported  at  a  rate  not  exorbitant.  And  yet  he  is 
anxious  about  its  safety,  and  for  this  reason  has 
resolved  to  ship  it  with  secrecj^,  and  iu  a  private  trad- 
ing-vessel, instead  of  by  one  of  the  regular  liners 
already  commenced  plying  between  San  Francisco  and 
Panama.  He  has  heard  that  these  are  crowded  with 
miners  returning  home,  rough  fellows ;  many  of  them 
queer  characters,  some  little  better  than  bandits.  He 
dislikes  the  idea  of  trusting  his  gold  among  them,  and 
equally  his  girls,  since  no  other  ladies  are  likely  to  be 
going  that  way.  He  has  full  faith  in  the  integrity  of 
Capt.  Lantanas,  and  knows  the  Chilian  skipper  to  be  a 
man  of  gentle  heart,  in  fact,  a  gentleman.  Don 
Tomas  has  told  him  all  this. 

Under  the  circumstances,  and  with  such  a  man,  it 
will  not  do  to  drive  too  hard  a  bargain  ;  and  Don  Gre- 
gorio, thus  reflecting,  confesses  his  freight  to  be  gold, 
and  asks  the  skipper  to  name  his  terms. 

Lantanas,  after  a  moment  spent  in  mental  calcula- 
tion, says,  "  One  thousand  dollars  for  the  freight,  and 
a  hundred  each  for  the  three  passages.  Win  that  suit 
you,  serior?" 

u  It  seems  a  large  sum,"  rejoins  the  ex-haciendado, 
"  But  I  am  aware  prices  are  high  just  now  :  so  I  agree 
to  it.     When  will  you  be  ready  to  sail?  " 

u  I  am  readj'  now,  sc~ior;  that  is,  if  "  — 

4<  If  what?" 


92  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

The  captain,  remembering  his  crewless  ship,  does  no; 
make  immediate  answer. 

"  If,"  sa}Ts  Don  Gregorio,  noticing  his  hesitation, 
and  mistaking  the  reason  —  "if  you're  calculating  on 
any  delay  from  me,  you  needn't.  I  can  have  every 
tlang  on  board  in  three  or  four  daj^s,  —  a  week  at  the 
utmost." 

The  skipper  is  still  silent,  thinking  of  excuses.  Ho 
dislikes  losing  the  chance  of  such  a  profitable  cargo, 
and  yet  knows  he  cannot  name  an}-  certain  time  of  sail- 
ing for  the  want  of  hands  to  work  his  ship.  There 
seems  no  help  for  it  but  to  confess  his  shortcomings. 
Perhaps  Don  Gregorio  will  wait  till  the  * '  Condor ' '  can 
get  a  crew.  The  more  likely,  since  almost  every  othei 
vessel  in  port  is  in  a  similar  predicament. 

"  Senor"  he  says  at  length,  "  my  ship  is  at  your 
service  ;  and  I  should  be  pleased  and  proud  to  have  you 
and  your  ladies  as  my  passengers.  But  there's  a  little 
difficulty  to  be  got  over  before  I  can  leave  San  Fran- 
cisco." 

"Clearance  duties  —  port  dues  to  be  paid.  You 
want  the  passage-money  advanced,  I  presume?  Wel^ 
I  shall  not  object  to  prepaying  it,  in  part.  How  much 
will  you  require?  " 

"Mil  gmcias,  Seiior  Montijo.  It's  not  anything 
of  that  kind.  Although  far  from  rich,  thank  Heaven  ! 
neither  I  nor  my  craft  is  under  embargo.  I  could  sail 
out  of  this  harbor  in  half  an  hour,  but  for  the  want 
of"  — 

"  Want  of  what?  "  asks  the  ex-Jiacier.dado,  in  some 
surprise. 

"  Well,  senor —  sailois." 

"  What !     Have  you  no  sailors?  " 

"lam  sorry  to  say,  not  one." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  93 

rt  Well,  Capt.  Lantanas,  I  thought  it  strange  that  1 
observed  nobody  aboard  your  ship,  except  that;  black 
fellow,     But  I  supposed  your  sailors  had  gone  ashore." 

"So  have  they,  senor —  and  intend  staying  there. 
Aia-3 !  that's  the  trouble.  They've  gone  off  to  the 
gold-diggings,  —  every  one  of  them,  except  ray  negro 
cook.  Likely  enough  I  should  have  lost  him  too,  but 
he  knows  that  California  is  now  part  of  the  United 
States,  and  fears  that  some  speculating  Yankee  might 
make  a  slave  of  him,  or  that  he  might  meet  his  old 
master  ;  for  he  has  had  one  already." 

"  How  vexatious  all  this  !  "  says  Don  Gregorio.  "  T 
fear  I  shall  have  to  look  out  for  another  ship." 

"  I  fear  3-011' 11  not  find  one  much  better  provided 
than  mine  —  as  regards  sailors.  In  that  respect,  to 
use  a  professional  phrase,  we're  all  in  the  same  boat." 

"  You  assure  me  of  that?  " 

"  I  do,  senor." 

"  I  can  trust  j'ou,  Capt.  Lantanas.  As  I  have  told 
you,  I'm  not  here  without  knowing  something  of  your- 
self.    You  have  a  friend  in  Don  Tomas  Silvestre?  " 

"  I  believe  I  have  the  honor  of  Don  Tomas'  friend- 
ship." 

"Well,  he  has  recommended  you  in  such  terms,  that 
I  can  thoroughly  rely  upon  }'ou  :  for  that  reason,  I  shall 
now  make  known  why  I  wish  to  travel  by  your  ship." 

The  Chilian  skippei  bows  thanks  for  the  compliment, 
and  silently  awaits  the  proffered  confidence. 

"  I  have  just  sold  my  property  here,  receiving  for  it 
thre  e  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  gold-dust,  —  the  same 
intended  for  your  freight.  It  is  now  lying  at  my  house, 
some  three  miles  from  town.  As  you  must  be  aware, 
Capt.  LaDtanas,  this  place  is  at  present  the  rendezvous 
of  scoundrels  collected  from  every  country  on  the  fact? 


94  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

of  the  earth,  but  chiefly  from  the  United  States  and 
Australia.  They  live  and  act  almost  without  regard  to 
law ;  such  judges  as  the}7  have  being  almost  as  great, 
i  riminals  as  those  brought  before  them.  I  feel  impa- 
tient to  get  away  from  the  place  ;  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, you  won't  wonder  at.  And  I  am  naturally 
anxious  about  rny  gold-dust.  At  an}*  hour,  a  band  of 
these  lawless  ruffians  may  take  it  into  their  heads  to 
snip  me  of  it,  or,  at  all  events,  attempt  to  do  so. 
Therefore  I  wish  to  get  it  aboard  a  ship,  —  one  where 
it  will  be  safe,  and  in  whose  captain  I  can  thoroughly 
confide.     Now,  captain,  you  understand  me?" 

"  I  do,"  is  the  simple  response  of  the  Chilian.  He 
is  about  to  add  that  Don  Gregorio's  gold,  as  also  his 
secret,  will  be  safe  enough,  so  far  as  he  can  protect  it, 
when  the  ex-haciendado  interrupts  him  by  continuing, — 

"  I  may  add  that  it  is  my  intention  to  return  to 
Spain,  of  which  I  am  a  native,  —  to  Cadiz,  where  I  pos- 
sess some  property.  That,  I  intended  doing  anyhow  ; 
but  now  I  want  to  take  my  departure  at  once.  As  a 
Spaniard,  senor,  I  needn't  point  out  to  you,  who  are 
of  the  same  race,  that  the  society  of  California  cannot 
be  congenial,  now  that  the  rowdies  of  the  United 
States  have  become  its  rulers.  I  am  most  anxious  to 
get  away  from  the  place  ?s  soon  as  possible.  It  is 
exceedingly  awkward  yom  not  having  a  crew.  Can't 
something  be  done  to  procure  one  ?  ' ' 

"  The  only  thing  is  to  offer  extra  pay.  There  are 
plenty  of  sailors  in  San  Francisco  ;  for  they've  not  all 
gone  to  gather  gold :  some  are  engaged  in  scattering 
it.  Unfortunately,  most  are  worthless,  drunken  fellows. 
Still  it  is  possible  that  a  few  good  men  might  be  founds 
were  the  wages  made  sufficiently  tempting.  ]No  doubt, 
*n  advertisement  in  the  "  Diario,"  offering  double  pay , 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  95 

might  procure  me  as  marry  hands  as  should  be  needed 
for  working  my  ship." 

"  How  much  would  it  all  amount  to?" 

"  Possibly  an  extra  thousand  dollars.' ' 

"Suppose  I  pay  that:  will  3*011  engage  the  whole 
ship  to  me  ;  that  is,  take  no  other  passengers,  or  wait 
for  any  more  freight,  but  sail  at  once  —  soon  as  you've 
secured  a  crew?    Do  3*011  agree  to  such  terras? " 

"  JSi  senor:  they  are  perfectly  satisfactory." 

"In  that  case  I'll  be  answerable  for  the  extra 
wages.  Any  thing  to  get  away  from  this  pandemonium 
of  a  place." 

"  I  think  we  shall  have  no  great  difficulty  in  getting 
sailors.     You  authorize  me  to  advertise  for  them?  " 

"  I  do,"  answers  Don  Gregorio. 

"Enough!"  rejoins  the  skipper.  "And  now. 
senor,  3*011  ma3^  make  your  preparations  for  embarking." 

"  I  have  not  many  to  make.  Nearly  all  has  been 
done  already.  It's  only  to  get  our  personal  baggage 
aboard,  with  the  freight  safety  stowed.  B3-  the  wa3T," 
adds  the  ex-haciendado,  speaking  sotto  voce,  "  I  wish 
to  ship  the  gold  as  soon  as  possible,  and  without 
attracting  any  attention  to  it.  You  understand  me, 
captain?" 

"I  do." 

"  I  shall  have  it  brought  aboard  at  night,  in  a  boat 
wliich  belongs  to  Silvestre.  It  will  be  safer  in  your 
cabin  than  anywhere  else,  since  no  one  need  be  the 
wiser  about  the  place  of  deposit." 

"  No  one  shall,  through  me." 

"  That  I  feel  certain  of,  Senor  Lantanas.  Don 
Tomas  is  your  indorser,  and  would  be  willing  to  be 
your  bondsman,  were  it  needed  ;  which  it  is  not." 

Again  the  "  Condor's  "  captain  bows  in  acknowledge 


96  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

ment  of  the  confidence  reposed  in  him  ;  and  after  some 
further  exchange  of  speech  respecting  the  shipment  of 
the  treasure,  and  the  writing  out  an  advertisement 
which  D(ii  Gregorio  is  to  get  inserted  in  the  "Diario," 
the  latter  returns  to  his  boat,  and  is  rowed  back  to  the 
shove  ;  while  the  Chilian  skipper  lights  a  fresh  cigarrito, 
and,  with  elbows  rested  on  the  capstan-head,  resumes 
the  attitude  of  insouciance  out  of  which  he  has  been 
temporarily  aroused. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN    SEARCH    OF    A    SECOND. 

JUST  about  the  time  Don  Gregorio  is  taking  leave 
of  Capt.  Lantanas,  the  two  unreceived  visitors  are 
turning  their  backs  upon  his  house.  De  Lara  feels  the 
discomfiture  the  keenest.  His  heart  is  harrowed  with 
mingled  emotions,  — passions  of  varied  complexion,  all 
evil.  His  lips  are  livid  with  rage,  his  brow  black  with 
chagrin ;  while  his  e3~es  fairly  scintillate  with  unsatis- 
fied vengeance.  While  returning  along  the  avenue,  he 
neither  looks  back  nor  up.  Not  a  syllable  escapes 
him.  With  glance  upon  the  ground,  he  rides  in  sullen 
silence. 

After  clearing  the  entrance-gate,  and  again  upon  the 
outside  road,  he  turns  face  toward  the  dwelling  whose 
hospitality  has  been  denied  him.  He  sees  nought  there 
.o  soothe,  but  something  which  still  further  afflicts  him. 
Four  horses  are  filing  out  through  the  front-gate,  con- 
ducted b}T  grooms.     Thejr  are  saddled,  bridled,  ready 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  97 

for  being  mounted.  To  his  practised  eye,  their  capari- 
son tells  that  the}'  are  intended  only  for  a  short  excur« 
sion,  not  a  journey,  And,  though  their  saddles  are 
nearly  alike,  he  knows  that  only  two  of  them  are  to  bo 
mounted  by  men,  the  other  two  to  carry  ladies.  The 
seuoritas  are  going  out  for  a  ride,  —  a  paseo  de  campo, 
—  accompanied  by  their  English  guests.  Simultane- 
ously, as  instinctively,  the  two  Californians  arrive  at 
this  conclusion.  Now  the}'  know  why  they  were  not 
received  ;  a  knowledge,  which,  instead  of  tranquillizing 
their  chafed  spirits,  but  maddens  them  the  more.  The 
thought  of  their  sweethearts  being  escorted  by  their 
rivals,  riding  along  wild  unfrequented  paths,  through 
trees  overshadowing,  away  from  the  presence  of  spy- 
ing domestics,  or  the  interference  of  protecting  rela- 
tives, beyond  the  eyes  and  ears  of  every  one  —  the 
thought  that  Carmen  Montijo  and  Inez  Alvarez  are 
setting  out  on  an  excursion  of  this  kind  is  to  Frank 
Lara  and  Faustino  Calderon  bitter  as  deadliest  poison. 
And  reflection  imbitters  it  the  more.  The  excursion- 
ists will  have  every  opportunity  of  wandering  at  will. 
They  will  become  separated ;  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  as  to  how  the  partition  will  be  made  :  the  older 
of  the  two  officers  will  pair  cif  with  Dona  Carmen,  the 
younger  with  Dona  Inez.  Thus  the}'  will  ride  unmo- 
lested, unobserved;  converse  without  fear  of  being 
overheard,  clasp  hands  without  danger  of  being  seen  — 
perhaps  exchange  kisses.  Oh  the  dire,  maddening  jeal- 
ousy !  Even  the  dull  brain  and  cold  heart  of  Calderon 
are  fired  by  these  reflections.  They  sting  him  to  tne 
quick,  jut  not  as  De  Lara  ;  for  not  as  De  Lara  does  he 
love. 

After  gazing  for  a  while  at  the  house,  at  the  horses 
and  grooms,  at  the  preparations  that  are  being  made 


98  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

for  mounting,  noting  their  magnificent  style,  with  a 
last  glance  such  as  Satan  gave  when  expelled  from 
Paradise,  the  Creole  drives  the  spur  deep  into  hi3 
horse's  side,  and  dashes  off  down  the  hill,  Calderon 
keeping  after.  At  its  bottom  they  again  halt,  being 
now  out  of  sight  of  the  house.  Facing  toward  his  com- 
panion, De  Lara  says,  "We're  in  for  a  fight,  Faustino, 
both  of  us." 

"  Not  both.  I  don't  think  I'm  called  upon  to  chal- 
lenge that  youngster.     He's  but  a  boy." 

"  He's  been  man  enough  to  insult  you ;  and,  if  I 
mistake  not,  you'll  find  him  man  enough  to  meet  you." 

"  I  don't  see  that  he  did  insult  me." 

"Indeed!  you  don't?  Sticking  your  horse,  as  if  it 
were  a  pig,  and  sending  him  off  in  a  stampede  that 
well-nigh  dismounted  3-011,  — all  before  the  face  of  your 
lady-love,  right  under  her  eyes  !  You  don't  deem  that 
an  insult,  eh?" 

"But  3-011  must  remember  I  gave  him  provocation. 
At  your  instigation,  I  nearly  rode  over  him.  Looking 
at  it  in  that  light,  he's  in  a  sense  excusable  for  what 
he  did.  Besides,  he  only  meant  it  as  a  joke  :  when  it 
was  all  over,  he  laughed  at  it." 

"Not  at  it,  but  at  you:  so  did  your  sweetheart, 
amigo.  As  we  reined  up  under  the  walls,  I  could  see 
her  long  lashes  drooping  down,  her  cjts  looking  dis- 
dain at  you,  with  her  pretty  lips  pouting  in  scorn. 
You're  evidently  out  of  her  good  graces,  and  3-011' U 
have  to  do  something  ere  3-011  can  reinstate  yourself." 

"  Do  3-011  realty  think  so?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  Never  surer  of  any  thing  in  mj; 
life." 

"  But  what  would  3-ou  have  me  do?  " 

"  You  ouo-ht  to  know  without  asking  me.     Call  out 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  99 

the  cub,  and  kill  him  —  if  you  can.  That's  what  I  de« 
sign  doing  with  my  gentleman." 

"Ah  I  you're  a  dead  shot;  and  that  makes  ah  tha 
difference.  These  Anglo-Saxons  alwaj-s  use  pistols  ; 
and,  if  I  challenge  him,  he'll  have  the  choice  of  weap- 
ons." 

"  Quite  true.  With  me  it  will  be  different.  I  took 
care  to  give  the  affront,  and  you  should  have  done  the 
same.  Seeing  you  got  the  worst  of  it,  you  ought  to 
have  followed  up  your  first  dash  at  him  by  something 
besides,  —  a  slap  across  the  cheek,  or  a  cut  with  your 
whip." 

"I'm  sorry  now,  I  didn't  do  one  or  the  other." 

"  "Well,  you  may  find  an  opportunity"  yet.  For  my 
quarrel,  I  don't  care  a  toss  whether  it  be  settled  with 
swords  or  pistols.  We  Creoles  of  Louisiana  are  ac- 
customed to  the  use  of  either  weapon.  Thanks  to  old 
Gardalet  of  the  Rue  Ro}Tale,  I've  got  the  trick  of  both, 
and  am  equally  ready  to  send  a  half-ounce  of  lead,  or 
twelve  inches  of  steel,  through 'the  body  of  this  Brit- 
isher.    By  the  wa}r,  what's  his  name?  " 

The  speaker  pulls  out  the  card  given  him  by  the 
English  officer,  and,  glancing  at  it,  answers  his  own 
question:  "  Edward  Crozier,  H.M.S.  '  Crusader.'  Ha, 
Mr.  Ned  Crozier!"  he  exclaims,  speaking  in  plain 
English,  the  sight  of  the  card  seemingly  giving  a  fresh 
fillip  to  his  spleen.  "  You've  had  3*0111'  triumph  to-day. 
It  will  be  mine  to-morrow ;  and,  if  my  old  fortune 
don't  fail  me,  there'll  be  an  empty  seat  at  the  mess- 
taWe  of  the  ship  '  Crusader.'  " 

"You  really  intend  fighting  him?  " 

"Now,  Don  Faustino  Calderon,  why  do  you  ask 
that  question?  " 

"Because,  1  think  all  might  be  arranged  with' 
out"  — 


100  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Without  what?     Speak  out,  man !  " 

"  Why,  without  any  spilling  of  blood. " 

"  You  may  arrange  that  wa}',  if  3*011  like.  Y'oui 
quarrel  is  a  distinct  one,  and  I've  nothing  to  do  with 
it,  having  my  own  hands  full.  Indeed,  if  the}r  wei\j 
empty,  I'm  not  so  sure  I  should  second  your  talking  as 
you  do.  However,  that's  not  the  purpose  now.  In 
answer  to  3*0111*  first  question,  I  can  only  say  what  I've 
said  before,  —  I  not  only  intend  fighting  this  Crozier, 
but  killing  him.  1  majT  fail  in  this  m}*  intention  :  if 
so,  there's  an  end  of  it,  and  of  me;  for,  once  on  the 
ground,  I  don't  leave  it  a  living  man  if  he  does.  One 
or  both  of  us  shall  stay  there  till  we're  carried  off — 
dead." 

"  Carramba!  3*our  talk  gives  me  the  trembles.  It's 
not  pleasant  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  let  alone  doing 
it." 

"  Think  your  own  way,  and  welcome.  To  me  it 
would  be  less  pleasant  to  leave  it  undone  now,  than 
ever  in  ni3'  life.  After  what  I've  gone  through,  I  don't 
care  much  for  character;  in  truth,  not  a  straw. 
That's  all  stuff  and  pretension.  Money  makes  the 
man ;  and  without  it  he's  nothing,  though  he  were  a 
saint.  Respectability —  bah  !  I  don't  value  it  a  claco. 
But  there's  a  reputation  of  another  kind  I  do  value, 
and  intend  to  preserve,  because,  in  n^  world,  it  counts 
for  something  —  has  counted  already." 

••What  is  that?" 

•'  Courage.  Losing  it,  I  should  lose  every  thing. 
And,  iii  this  very  city  of  San  Francisco,  I'd  be  only  a 
hound  where  I'm  now  a  hunter,  barked  at  03*  every 
eur,  and  kicked  03-  every  coward  who  chose  to  pick  a 
quarrel  with  me." 

••There's   no   danger  of  that,  De   Lara,     All  whc 


A   STORY   OF   THE  SOCJTH  SEA.  101 

ha\e  had  dealings    with  you   know  better.     There's 
Utile  fear  of  any  one  putti  ag  v.  slight  upon  yoi-" 

•'There  would  be,  if  I  refused  tofid^t  this,  fellow. 
Then  you'd  see  the  difference. '  s^f%5  rVnsdno  CiUde- 
ron,  I  couldn't  sit  at  a  monte  table,  and  keep  the-  red- 
shirts  from  robbing  us,  if  they  didn't  know  'twould  bo 
a  dangerous  game  to  play.  However,  it  isn't  their 
respect  I  value  now,  but  that  of  one  very  different." 

"Who?" 

"  Again  you  ask  an  idle  question,  —  so  idle,  that  I 
ion't  believe  you  care  a  straw  for  Inez  Alvarez,  or 
know  what  love  is." 

"What  has  she  to  do  with  it? " 

"  She?  —  nothing.  That's  true  enough.  I  don't  care 
aught  for  her,  or  what  she  might  think  of  me  ;  but  I 
do  for  Carmen  Montijo  and  her  good  opinion ;  at 
least,  so  far  that  she  sha'n't  think  me  either  fool  or 
coward.  She  ma}T  be  fancying  me  the  first ;  but,  if  she 
does,  she'll  find  herself  mistaken.  At  all  events,  she'll 
get  convinced  that  I'm  not  the  last.  And  if  it  be  as 
rumor  reports,  and  as  you  say  you've  heard,  that  she's 
given  her  heart  to  this  gringo,  I'll  take  care  she  don't 
bestow  her  hand  upon  him  —  not  while  I  live.  When 
I'm  dead,  she  can  do  as  she  likes." 

"  But,  after  what's  passed,  do  3-011  intend  returning 
to  propose  to  her?  " 

"I  do;  though  not  till  we've  finished  this  affair 
with  the  fellows  who've  interrupted  us.  Yes,  I'll  give 
her  every  char.ee  to  save  herself.  She  shall  say  yes. 
or  nay  in  straight  speech,  and  in  so  many  words. 
After  that,  I'll  understand  how  to  act.  But  come! 
we're  wasting;  time.  A  duel's  a  thinsr  won't  do  to 
dally  over.  Do  you  intend  to  meet  your  man,  01 
not?" 

e* 


102  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

*'  I'd  rather  not,  '  replies  the  poltroon  hesitatingly; 
"  that  is,-  if -the  thkig  can  be  arranged.  Do  you  think 
it  can,  Do  Lara?  " 

"  Of  course, -it  can  !«  your  thing,  as  you  call  it, 
though  not  without  disgrace  to  3-011.  You  should  fight 
him,  Faustino." 

"  Well,  if  you  say  I  should,  wh}',  I  suppose  I  must. 
I  never  fired  a  pistol  in  my  life,  and  am  onty  second- 
rate  with  the  sword.  I  can  handle  a  machete,  or  a 
vuchilla,  when  occasion  calls  for  it ;  but  these  weapons 
won't  be  admitted  in  a  duel  between  gentlemen.  1 
suppose  the  sailor-fellow  claims  to  be  one?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  he  does,  and  with  good  reason.  An 
officer  belonging  to  a  British  man-of-war  would  call 
you  out  for  questioning  such  a  claim.  But  I  think  3-ou 
underrate  3-our  skill  with  the  small-sword.  I've  seen 
3'ou  doing  very  well  with  it  at  Roberto's  fencing- 
school." 

"  Yes,  I  took  lessons  there.  But  fencing  is  very 
different  from  fighting." 

"Never  mind.  When  3'ou  get  on  the  duelling- 
ground,  fancy  yourself  within  the  walls  of  Roberto's 
shooting-galleiy,  and  that  3-011  are  about  to  take  a  fresh 
lesson  in  the  art  d'escrime.  Above  all,  choose  the 
sword  for  your  weapon." 

"  How  can  I,  if  I'm  to  be  the  challenger?  " 

lC  You  needn't  be.  There's  a  way  to  get  over  that. 
Tie  English  officers  are  not  going  straight  back  to 
their  ship  ;  not  likely  before  a  late  hour  of  the  night. 
After  returning  from  this  ride,  I  take  it  the}*' 11  sta3r  to 
dinner  at  Don  Gregorio's,  and,  with  wine  to  give  them 
a  start,  the3T'll  be  prett3r  sure  to  have  a  cruise,  as  thev 
call  ifc,  through  the  town.  There  3-011  ma3r  meet  your 
man,  and  can  insult  him  hy  giving  him  a  cuff,  spitting 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  103 

in  his  face,  am'  thing  to  put  the  onus  of  challenging 
upon  him." 

"Por  Dios!  I'll  do  as  you  say." 

"That's  right.  Now  let  us  think  of  what's  before 
us.  As  we're  both  to  be  principals,  we  can't  stand 
seconds  to  one  another.  I  know  who'll  act  for  me. 
Have  you  got  a  friend  3'ou  can  call  upon  ? ' ' 

"  Don  Manuel  Diaz.  He's  the  only  one  I  can  think 
of." 

"  Don  Manuel  will  do.  He's  a  cool  hand,  and 
knows  all  the  regulations  of  the  duello.  But  he's  net 
at  home  to-cla}*.  As  I  chance  to  know,  he's  gone  to  a 
funcion  de  gallos  at  Punta  Pedro,  and  by  this  time 
should  be  in  the  cockpit." 

"  Why  can't  we  go  there ?   Or  had  we  better  send?  " 

"Better  send,  I  think.  Time's  precious,  at  least 
mine  is.  As  3*ou  know,  I  must  be  at  the  monte  table 
as  soon  as  the  lamps  are  lighted.  If  I'm  not,  the  bank 
will  go  begging,  and  we  may  lose  our  customers.  Be- 
sides, there's  my  own  second  to  look  up,  which  must 
be  done  this  day  before  I  lay  a  hand  upon  the  cards. 
"What  hour  is  it?  I've  not  brought  nry  timepiece  with 
me." 

"  Twelve  o'clock,  and  a  quarter  past,"  answers  Cal 
deron,  after  consulting  his  watch. 

"  OiJy  that !  Then  we'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  get 
to  the  cock-fight,  and  witness  a  main.  Don  Manuel 
has  a  big  bet  on  his  pardo.  I'd  like  to  stake  a  doub- 
loon or  two  myself  on  that  bird.  Yes,  on  reflection, 
we'd  better  go  ourselves.  That  will  be  the  surest  way 
to  secure  the  services  of  Diaz.      Vamonos!  " 

At  this,  the  iwo  intending  duellists  again  set  their 
steeds  in  motion,  and,  riding  for  a  short  distance 
along  the   shore-road,    turn  into   another,  which   wiU 


104  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS 

take  then  to  Punta  Pedro.  Their  jealous  anger  btili 
anappeased,  they  urge  their  horses  into  a  gallop,  riding 
as  if  for  life,  on  an  errand  whose  upshot  ma}'  be  death 
' —  to  one  or  both  of  thern. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A    "PASEO    DE    CABAL 

THE  promontory  called  Punta  Pedro  is  not  in  San 
Francisco  Bay,  but  on  the  outside  coast  of  the 
Pacific.  To  reach  it  from  the  former,  it  is  necessary 
to  traverse  the  dividing. ridge  between  the  two  waters, 
this  a  spur  of  the  "  Coast  Range,"  which,  running 
higher  as  it  trends  southward,  is  known  to  Spanish  Cal- 
ifornians  as  the  San  Bruno  Mountains.  Punta  Pedro 
abuts  from  their  base  into  the  ocean  ;  the  coast  in  this 
quarter  being  bold  and  picturesque,  but  almost  unin- 
habited. Here  and  there  only  the  solitary  hut  of  a 
seal-hunter  or  fisherman,  with  a  small  collection  of  the 
same  near  the  Point  itself,  bearing  its  name,  and  a 
somewhat  indifferent  reputation.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
gold-seekers  do  not  go  there  :  it  is  only  frequented  by 
the  natives.  From  San  Francisco  to  Punta  Pedro,  the 
road  runs  past  Dolores,  an  ancient  mission  of  the 
Franciscan  monks,  whose  port  was,  as  already  stated, 
Yerba  Buena  previous  to  becoming  rechristened  San 
Francisco.  This  route  De  Lara  and  Calderon  have 
taken,  getting  into  it  by  a  cross-cut ;  and  along  it  they 
contirue  to  ride,  still  at  a  gallop,  with  faces  set  for 
Dolores.     They  are  not  the  only  equestrians  upon  that 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  105 

load,  The  dust  kicked  np  by  their  horses'  hoofs  has 
just  settled  down,  when  a  second  party  appears,  going 
in  the  same  direction,  though  in  a  gentler  gait;  for  it 
is  a  cavalcade  composed  parti}'  of  ladies.  It  is  a 
quartet,  two  of  each  sex ;  and,  as  the  horses  are  the 
same  alread}'  seen  standing  saddled  in  the  courtyard 
of  Don  Gregorio,  it  is  not  necessary  to  give  the  names 
of  the  riders.  These  can  be  guessed.  Doiia  Carmen 
is  carrying  out  the  instructions  left  by  her  father,  who, 
Californian  fashion,  supposed  he  could  give  his  sailor 
guests  no  greater  treat  than  a  paseo  de  caballo,  includ- 
ing an  excursion  to  the  old  Dolores  Mission,  without  a 
visit  to  which  no  exploration  of  the  country  around 
San  Francisco  can  be  considered  complete.  It  is  not 
the  least  of  the  "  lions." 

Like  most  Californian  damsels,  Don  Gregorio's 
daughter  takes  delight  in  the  saddle,  and  spends  some 
part  of  each  da}T  in  it.  An  accomplished  equestrienne, 
she  could  take  a  five-barred  gate,  or  a  bullfinch,  with 
any  of  the  hunting  Dianas  of  England  ;  and,  if  she  has 
not  ridden  to  hounds,  she  has  chased  wild  horses, 
mounted  on  one  but  little  less  wild.  That  on  which 
she  now  sits  seems  but  half  tamed.  Fresh  from  the 
stable,  he  rears  and  pitches,  at  times  standing  erect  on 
his  hind-legs :  for  all,  his  rider  has  no  fear  of  being 
unhorsed.  She  only  smiles,  pricks  him  with  the  spur. 
and  regardless^  strikes  him  with  her  cuarto.  Much 
after  the  same  fashion  acts  Inez ;  for  she,  too,  has 
learned  the  Californian  style  of  equitation.  The  two 
present  a  picture,  that,  to  the  eye  unaccustomed  to 
Mexican  habits,  might  seem  somewhat  bizarre.  Their 
mode  of  mount,  as  aire acty  said,  a  la  Duchesse  de  Bern, 
their  half  male  attire,  hats  of  vicuna  wool,  calzoncMlas 
lace  fringed  over  their  feet,  buff  boots,  and  large  row- 


106  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

elled  spurs  —  all  these  give  them  an  air  of  picturesque* 
ness.  And  if  appearing  bold,  still  beautiful,  as  the 
South  Sea  wind  ^flouts  back  the  limp  brims  of  their 
sombreros,  and  tosses  their  hair  into  dishevelmcnt ; 
while  the  excitement  of  the  ride  brings  the  color  to 
their  cheeks,  with  flashes  as  of  fire  from  their  eyes. 

The  young  English  officers  regard  them  with  glances 
of  ardent  admiration.  If  the}^  have  been  but  smitten 
before,  they  are  getting  fast  fixed  now  ;  and  both  will 
soon  be  seriously  in  love.  The  paseo  de  caballo  prom- 
ises to  terminate  in  a  proposal  for  a  longer  journey 
together,  —  through  life,  in  pairs.  They  are  thus  rid- 
ing, —  Crozier  alongside  Carmen,  Cadwallader  with 
Inez.  The  officers  are  in  their  uniforms,  a  costume 
for  equestrian  exercise  not  quite  ship-shape,  as  they 
would  phrase  it.  On  horseback  in  a  naval  uniform ! 
It  would  not  do  on  an  English  road  :  the  veriest  coun- 
tiy  lout  would  criticise  it.  But  different  in  California, 
where  all  ride,  gentle  or  simple,  in  dress  of  every 
conceivable  cut  and  fashion,  with  no  fear  of  ridicule 
therefor.  None  need  attach  to  that  of  Edward  Crozier. 
His  rank  has  furnished  him  with  a  frockcoat,  which, 
well  fitting,  gives  a  handsome  contour  to  his  person. 
Besides,  he  is  a  splendid  horseman,  has  hunted  in  the 
shires  before  he  ever  set  foot  aboard  a  ship.  Carmen 
Montijo  perceives  this.  She  can  tell  it  with  half  a 
glance.  And  it  pleases  her  to  reflect  that  her  escort- 
ing cavalier  is  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  believe? 
him  equal  to  any  thing. 

With  the  other  pair,  the  circumstances  are  slightly 
different.  Willie  Cadwallader  i?  no  rider,  having  had 
but  scant  practice,  —  a  fact  patent  to  all,  Inez  as  the 
others.  Besides,  the  mid  is  dressed  in  a  pea-jacket, 
which,  although  becoming  aboard  ship,  looks  a  little 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  101 

outre  in  a  saddk-,  especially  upon  a  prancing  Califor- 
nian  steed.  Does  it  make  the  young  ^Welshman  feel 
ridiculous?  Xot  a  bit.  lb  is  not  the  stuff  to  be 
humiliated  on  the  score  of  an  inappropriate  costume ; 
nor  yet  by  his  inferiority  in  horsemanship,  of  which 
he  is  himself  well  aware.  He  but  laughs  as  his  steed 
prances  about,  the  louder  when  it  comes  near  throw- 
ing him. 

How  does  he  appear  in  the  eyes  of  Inez  Alvarez  ? 
Does  she  think  him  ridiculous  ?  No  !  On  the  contrary, 
she  seems  charmed,  and  laughs  along  with  him,  de- 
lighted with  his  naivete,  and  the  courage  he  displays 
in  not  caring  for  consequences.  She  knows  he  is  out 
of  his  own  element,  the  sea.  She  believes  that  there 
he  would  be  brave,  heroic ;  among  ropes  the  most 
skilled  of  reefers ;  and,  if  he  cannot  gracefully  sit  a 
horse,  he  could  ride  big  billows,  breasting  them  like  an 
albatross. 

Thus  mutually  taking  each  other's  measure,  the  four 
equestrians  canter  on,  and  soon  arrive  at  the  Mission ; 
but  the}'  do  not  design  to  stay  there.  The  ride  has 
been  too  short,  the  sweet  moments  have  flown  quickly ; 
and  the  summit  of  a  high  hill,  seen  far  beyond,  induces 
them  to  continue  the  excursion.  They  only  stop  to 
give  a  glance  at  the  old  monasteiy,  where  Spanish 
monks  once  lorded  it  over  their  red-skinned  neophytes  ; 
at  the  church,  where  erst  ascended  incense,  and  prayers 
vere  pattered  in  the  ears  of  the  aborigines,  by  them 
ill  understood.  A  moment  spent  in  the  cemetery, 
where  Carmen  points  out  the  tomb  enclosing  the  remains 
of  her  mother,  dropping  a  tear  upon  it,  perhaps  forced 
from  her  by  the  reflection  that  soon  she  will  be  far  from 
that  sacred  spot,  it  may  be,  never  mere  to  behold  it. 
Away  from  it  now  ;  and  on  to  that  hill  from  which  they 
can  descrv  the  Pacific 


108  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

In  another  hour  they  have  reined  up  on  its  top, 
and  behold  the  great  South  Sea,  stretching  to  Car  hori- 
zon's verge,  to  the  limit  of  their  vision.  Before  them 
all  is  azure  and  beautiful ;  only  some  specks  in  the 
dim  distance,  the  lonr  isles  of  the  Farralones.  More 
northerly,  and  not  sc  far  off,  the  "Seal"  rock,  and 
that  called  de  Campana  from  its  arcade  hollowed 
out  by  the  wash  of  waves,  bearing  resemblance  to  the 
belfry  of  a  church.  Nearer,  a  long  line  of  breakers, 
foam  crested,  and,  nearer  still,  the  strip  of  stony  beach, 
hacked  bjT  a  broad  reach  of  sand-dunes,  there  termed 
medanos. 

Seated  in  the  saddle,  the  excursionists  contemplate 
this  superb  panorama.  The  four  are  now  together, 
out  soon  again  separate  into  pairs,  as  they  have  been 
riding  along  the  road.  Somehow  or  other,  their  horses 
have  thus  disposed  them  ;  that  ridden  b}T  Crozier  hav- 
ing drawn  off  with  the  one  canying  Carmen,  while  the 
steed  so  ill  managed  by  Cadwallader  has  elected  to 
range  itself  alongside  that  of  Inez.  Perhaps  the  pair- 
ing has  not  been  altogether  accidental ;  whether  or 
no,  it  is  done  ;  and  the  conversation,  hitherto  general, 
is  reduced  to  the  simplicity  of  dialogue.  To  report  it 
correctly,  it  is  necessary  to  take  the  two  pairs  apart, 
giving  priority  to  those  who  b}r  their  }'ears  have  the 
right  to  it.  Crozier,  looking  abroad  over  the  ocean, 
saj-s,  "  I  shall  ere  long  be  upon  it."  He  accompanies 
the  speech  with  a  sigh. 

"And  I  too,"  rejoins  Carmen,  in  a  tone,  and  with 
accompaniment  singularly  similar. 

' '  How  soon  do  3'ou  think  of  leaving  California  ?  u 
queries  the  young  officer. 

"  Oh,  very  soon!  My  father  is  already  making  ar« 
rangements,  and  expects  we  shall  go  away  in  a  week. 


A  STOKT  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  109 

if  not  less.  Indeed,  he  has  this  day  been  to  see  about 
taking  passage  for  us  to  Panama.  That's  why  he  wa? 
not  at  home  to  receive  you  ;  leaving  me  to  do  the  honors 
of  the  house,  and  apologize  for  his  seeming  rudeness." 

For  that,  certes,  no  apology  was  needed  ;  and  Crozier 
is  silent,  not  knowing  what  next  to  say.  Love,  re- 
puted eloquent,  is  often  the  reverse,  and,  though  open- 
ing the  lips  of  a  landsman,  will  shut  those  of  men  who 
follow  the  sea.  There  is  a  modesty  about  the  latter 
unfelt  by  the  former,  especially  in  the  presence  of 
women;  why,  I  cannot  tell,  only  knowing,  that,  as  a 
rule,  it  is  so,  and  certainly  in  the  case  of  Edward 
Crozier.  In  time  he  gets  over  his  embarrassment  so 
far  as  to  venture,  "I  suppose,  Doha  Carmen,  you  are 
very  happy  at  the  prospect  of  returning  to  Spain  ?  ' ' 

"No,  indeed!"  answers  Don  Gregorio's  daughter. 
•'  On  the  contrary,  it  makes  me  rather  melancholy.  I 
like  California,  and  could  live  in  it  all  my  life. 
Couldn't  3*011?" 

"  Under  certain  circumstances,  I  could." 

"  But  you  like  it,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  do  now.  In  ten  days  from  this  time  I  shall  no 
longer  care  for  it." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  Don  Eduardo?  There's  an 
enigma  in  3*0111*  words.  Please  explain  them."  While 
asking  the  question,  her  gra3*-blue  e3*es  gaze  into  his 
vt  ith  an  expression  of  searching  eagerness,  almost 
anxiety. 

"  Shall  I  tell  3*011  wliy,  senorita?  " 

"  I  have  asked  3*011,  senor." 

"Well,  then,  I  like  California  now,  because  it  con- 
tains the  fairest  object  on  earth,  to  me  the  dearest, 
since  it  is  the  woman  I  love.  In  ten  days,  or  less,  by 
Uer  own  showing,  she  will  be  away  from  it :  why  should 
10 


110  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

I  care  for  it  then?  Now,  Dona  Carmen,  I'\e  given 
yon  the  key  to  what  3-011  have  called  an  enigma." 

"Not  quite.  But  perhaps  yon  will  pardon  a  wo- 
man's curiosity,  if  I  ask  the  name  of  the  lady  who  thus 
controls  3-our  likes  and  dislikes  as  regard  our  dea* 
California." 

Crozier  hesitates,  a  red  spot  starting  out  upon  his 
cheek.  He  is  about  to  pronounce  a  name,  perhaps 
adding  a  speech  the  most  important  he  has  ever  made 
in  his  life,  because  laden  with  his  life's  happiness,  or 
leading  to  the  reverse.  What  if  it  should  be  coldly 
received?  But  no  :  he  cannot  be  mistaken.  That  ques- 
tion, asked  so  quaintly,  yet  so  impressively  —  surely 
it  courted  the  answer  he  intends  giving  it.  And  he 
gives  it  without  further  reflection,  —  her  own  name,  not 
an  added  word,  "  Carmen  Montijo." 

"  Eduardo,"  she  asks  after  a  pause,  dropping  the 
Don,  "are  you  in  earnest?  Can  I  take  this  as  true? 
Do  not  deceive  me  ;  in  honor  do  not !  To  you,  and  I 
now  tell  you,  I  have  surrendered  all  m}r  heart.  Say 
that  I  have  yours  !  " 

"I  have  said  it,  Carmen,"  he,  too,  adopting  the 
familiar  language  of  love.     "  Have  I  not?  " 

"Sincerely?" 

"  Look  in  m}T  eyes  for  the  answer." 

She  obeys ;  and  both,  coming  closer,  gaze  into  one 
another's  e}-es,  the  flashes  from  the  blue  crossing  and 
commingling  with  those  from  the  brown.  Neither 
could  mistake  the  meaning  of  the  glance  ;  for  it  is  the 
true  light  of  love,  pure  as  passionate.  Not  another 
word  passes  between  them.  The  confession,  with  its 
dreaded  crisis,  is  past ;  and,  with  hearts  quivering  in 
sweet  content,  the}r  turn  their  thoughts  to  the  future* 
full  of  pleasant  promise. 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  Ill 

Near  b}r  are  two  other  hearts,  quite  as  happy  a? 
theirs,  though  after  a  sceue  less  sentimental,  and  a 
dialogue,  that,  to  a  stranger  overhearing  it,  might 
appear  spoken  in  jest.  For  all,  in  real  earnest,  and  so 
ending,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  young  Welsh- 
man's final  speech,  with  the  reply  of  his  Andalusian 
sweetheart:  "Inez,  you're  the  dearest  girl  I've  met 
in  all  my  cruisings.  Now,  don't  let  us  beat  about  any 
longer,  but  take  in  sail,  and  bring  the  ship  to  an  an- 
chor.    Will  you  be  mine,  and  many  me?" 

"I  will." 

No  need  to  stay  longer  there,  no  object  in  continu- 
ing to  s;aze  over  the  ocean.  The  horses  seem  instinc- 
tively  to  understand  this,  and,  turning  together,  set 
heads  for  home. 


CHAPTER    Xni. 

A   "golpe   de   caballo." 

THE  bright  Californian  sun  is  declining  towards 
the  crest  of  the  Coast  Range,  when  two  horse- 
men, coming  from  the  Pacific  side,  commence  ascend- 
ing the  ridge.  As  the  sultry  hours  have  passed,  and  a 
chill  breeze  blows  from  the  outside  ocean,  they  have 
thrust  their  heads  through  the  central  slits  of  their 
cloak3,  —  these  being  mangas, — leaving  the  circular 
skirts  to  droop  down  below  their  knees,  while  draping 
back,  cavalry  fashion,  over  the  hips  of  their  horses. 
The  colors  of  these  garments  —  one  scarlet,  the  other 
sky-blue — enable  us  to  identhy  the  wearers  as  Don 
Franc'.sco  de  Lara,  and  Don  Faustino  Calderon ;  [01 


112  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

m  tiath  it  is  the}r,  returning  from  the  pelea  de  gallos  at 
Punta  Pedro.  The3T  have  seen  Diaz,  and  arranged 
everything  about  the  duel.  Faustino  has  finally  de- 
termined upon  fight.  Instigated  by  his  more  coura- 
geous confederate,  and  with  further  pressing  on  the 
part  of  Diaz,  —  a  sort  of  Californian  bravo,  —  his  cour- 
age has  been  at  length  screwed  up  to  the  necessary 
pitch,  and  kept  there  by  the  potent  spirit  of  Catalan 
brandy,  found  freely  circulating  around  the  cock-pit. 
A  flask  of  this  he  has  brought  away  with  him,  at  in- 
tervals taking  a  pull  from  it  as  he  rides  along  the 
road.  Under  its  influence  he  has  become  quite  valiant, 
and  swears,  that,  if  he  can  but  again  set  eyes  upon  the 
English  guardia-marina,  he  will  affront  him  in  such 
fashion  as  to  leave  him  no  loophole  to  escape  from 
being  the  challenger.  Carrai  !  he  will  do  as  Dc  Lara 
has  recommended,  —  cuff  the  young  officer,  kick  him, 
spit  in  his  face,  any  thing  to  provoke  the  gringo  to  a 
fight :  that  yellow-haired  cub  without  a  bigote  or  beard  ! 
And,  if  the  cur  won't  fight,  then  he  shall  apologize ; 
get  down  upon  his  knees,  acknowledge  him,  Faustino 
Calderon,  the  better  man,  and  forever  after  surrender 
all  claim  to  the  smiles,  as  to  the  hand,  of  Inez  Alvarez. 
With  this  swaggering  talk  he  entertains  his  compan- 
ion as  the  two  are  returning  to  town.  De  Lara,  less 
noisy,  is,  nevertheless,  also  excited.  The  fiery  Catalo- 
nian  spirit  has  affected  him  too ;  not  to  strengthen 
his  courage,  for  of  tins  he  has  already  enough,  but  to 
remote  the  weight  from  off  his  soul,  which,  after  the 
scene  at  Don  Gregorio's,  had  been  pressing  heavily 
upon  it.  Six  hon.s  have  since  elapsed,  and  for  th? 
.  first  three  he  lias  been  brooding  over  his  humiliation, 
his  spirit  prostrate  in  the  dust.  But  the  alcohol  ha*> 
again  raised   it  to  a   pitch   of    exaltation,    especially 


a   JST0J1Y   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  11 3 

R-hen  he  reflects  upon  the  prospect  of  the  *ure  and 
speed}'  vengeance  he  is  determined  to  take.  It  does 
not  occur  to  him  to  doubt  of  success.  With  thorough 
reliance  on  his  skill  as  a  swordsman,  he  feels  sure  of 
it.  Though,  also,  a  good  shot,  he  prefers  the  steel  for 
his  weapon,  like  most  men  of  the  Southern  Latinic 
race,  who  believe  Northerners  to  be  very  bunglers  at 
sword-play,  though  admitting  their  superiority  in  the 
handling  of  the  pistol.  As  things  stand,  unlike  his 
comrade  Calderon,  he  will  have  the  choice  of  weapons. 
His  intended  antagonist  was  the  first  to  demand  the 
card,  and  must  needs  be  challenger. 

As  the  two  ride  on,  they  talk  alternately,  both  giv- 
ing vent  to  their  spleen,  the  man  of  courage  as  the 
coward.  If  not  so  loud  or  boastingly  as  his  compan- 
ion, De  Lara  expresses  himself  with  a  more  spiteful 
and  earnest  determination,,  repeating  much  of  what 
he  has  already  said  at  an  earlier  hour,  but  with  added 
emphasis.  Once  he  has  the  English  officer  at  his  ra- 
pier's point,  he  will  show  him  no  mere}',  but  run  him 
through  without  the  slightest  compunction.  In  vain 
may  his  adversary  cry,  "  Quarter  !  "  There  can  be  none 
conceded,  after  what  has  that  day  passed  between 
them.  "  Maldita!  It  shall  be  a  duel  to  the  death  !  " 
he  exclaims,  after  having  given  way  to  a  series  of 
threats,  the  words  pronounced  with  an  emjiressement 
that  shows  him  truly,  terribly,  in  earnest.  They  ha\e 
been  carrying  on  this  excited  dialogue  as  their  horses 
climbed  the  slope  from  the  Pacific  side,  its  steepness 
hindering  them  from  going  at  their  usual  gait, — a 
gallop.  On  rising  the  ridge's  crest,  and  catching  sight 
of  San  Francisco,  with  its  newly-painted  white  walls, 
and  shining  roofs,  reflected  red  in  the  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  De  Lara,  suddenly  remembering  the  pressure 
10* 


114  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTKESS. 

upon  hirn  as  to  time,  strikes  the  spur  sharp  against  his 
aorse's  ribs,  and  puts  the  animal  to  speed.  The  olhei 
imitating  his  example,  they  dash  on  towards  Dolores. 
The}'  have  no  intention  to  make  stop  at  the  Mission. 
But,  on  reaching  it,  the}'  draw  up,  obedient  to  the  hail 
of  a  man  seen  standing  in  the  door  of  a  little  tavern, 
or  tinacal,  frequented  by  the  lower  class  of  native  Cali- 
fornians, —  a  rough,  swarthy-skinned  fellow,  in  a  garb 
that  proclaims  his  calling  to  have  connection  with  the 
sea,  though  not  that  of  a  sailor.  He  ma}T  be  a  shore 
boatman,  perhaps  a  pescador  ;  though  judging  by  his 
general  appearance,  and  the  sinister  cast  of  his  coun- 
tenance, he  might  well  pass  for  a  pirate. 

Stepping  a  few  paces  out  from  the  tinacal,  he  salutes 
the  two  horsemen,  who  have  halted  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  to  await  his  approach.  Despite  his  coarse, 
brutal  aspect,  and  common  habiliments,  he  is  evidently 
on  terms  of  familiarity  with  both  ;  the  st}de  of  his  salu- 
tation showing  it.  It  is  with  De  Lara,  however,  his 
business  lies,  as  signified  by  his  saying,  "I  want  a 
tvord  with  3*011,  Don  Francisco." 

"  What  is  it,  Rocas  ?  Airy  thing  about  seal-skins  ?  " 
asks  tne  Creole,  laying  a  significant  emphasis  on  the 
last  word. 

' '  Carramba !  No :  something  of  more  importance 
than  that." 

"Money,  then?" 

1  'Money." 
i     "  Do  you  wish  our  speech  to  be  private? " 

"Just  now,  3'es.  Perhaps,  in  time,  Don  Faus- 
tino"  — 

"Oh!"  interrupts  the  ganadero,  "don't  let  me 
stand  in  the  way.  I'll  ride  slowly  on :  you  can  over* 
take  me,  Don  Francisco." 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  HE 

"  Do,"  says  De  Lara,  at  the  same  time  stooping 
down  in  his  saddle,  and  continuing  the  conversation 
with  Rocas,  in  tone  so  low  as  to  prevent  their  speech 
being  overheard  by  two  queer-looking  customers,  who 
have  just  stepped  out  of  the  tinacal,  and  stand  loiter 
ing  at  its  door. 

Whatever  Rocas  may  have  said,  it  appears  to  make 
a  vivid  impression  on  the  gambler.  His  eyes  kindle 
up  with  a  strange  light,  in  which  surprise  is  succeeded 
by  an  expression  of  cupidity ;  while  his  manner  pro- 
claims that  the  revelation  made  to  him  is  not  only 
important,  as  he  has  been  forewarned,  but  also  very 
pleasing.  Their  muttered  dialogue  is  of  brief  dura- 
tion, but  ends  with  a  speech  which  shows  it  to  be  only 
preliminary  to  a  further  conference. 

"  I  shall  be  with  you  to-morrow,  by  mid-day." 

It  is  De  Lara  who  has  said  this  ;  after  which,  adding, 
" Actios,  Don  Rafael!  Uasta  maTiana!"  he  gives 
his  horse  the  spur,  and  gallops  to  overtake  his  travel- 
ling-companion ;  Rocas  sauntering  back  towards  the 
tavern. 

On  coming  up  with  the  ganadero,  De  Lara  rides  on 
silently  by  his  side,  without  showing  any  desire  to  sat- 
isfy Calderon's  curiosity.  He  but  piques  it  by  saying 
that  Rocas  has  made  a  communication  of  an  intensely 
interesting  kind,  which  he  will  impart  to  him,  Faus- 
tino,  in  due  time ;  but  now  there  are  other  matters  of 
quite  as  much  importance  to  be  attended  to.  The 
fighting  is  before  them  ;  and  that  cannot  be  set  aside. 
Calderon  wishes  it  could ;  for  the  flask  has  been  some 
time  forgotten,  and  the  spirit  has  been  getting  cold 
within  him. 

"  Take  another  pull,"  counsels  his  companion  :  "you 
may  need  it.     We'll  soon  be  in  the  town,  and  perhaps 


116  THE  FLAG  OF   DISTRESS. 

the   first  man  we    meet  will  be  your  yellow  -  haired 
rival." 

Scarcely  have  the  words  passed  De  Lara's  lips,  when 
something  in  front  fixes  their  attention.  At  some  dis- 
tance along  the  road,  a  clcud  of  dust  is  ascending  ;  in 
its  midst  a  darker  nucleus,  distinguishable  as  the  forms 
of  horses  with  riders  on  their  backs.  There  appear  to 
be  four  of  them,  filed  two  and  two.  Plying  their  spurs, 
and  galloping  closer,  the  gamblers  perceive  that  thi9 
equestrian  party  is  proceeding  in  the  same  direction  as 
themselves, — towards  the  town.  But  they  are  soon 
near  enough  to  know  that  such  is  not  their  destina- 
tion ;  for,  despite  the  enshrouding  dust,  they  have  no 
difficulty  in  identifying  those  who  are  before  them. 
The  horses  are  the  same  seen  that  morning,  saddled 
and  bridled,  in  front  of  Don  Gregorio's  house.  Two 
of  the  riders  are  Carmen  Montijo  and  Iliez  Alvarez : 
the  other  two  —  At  this  point  conjecture  terminates. 
De  Lara,  certain,  and  no  longer  able  to  control  him- 
self, cries  out,  "  Carajo!  it's  they  returning  from  their 
excursion ;  paired  off  as  I  supposed  they  would  be. 
Now,  Calderon,  you  have  your  chance  —  sooner  than 
you  expected  —  and  without  seeking;  a  lucky  omen. 
There's  your  rival  riding  by  the  side  of  your  sweet- 
heart, and  pouring  soft  speech  into  her  ear.  Now's 
your  time  to  set  things  straight :  insult  him  to  your 
heart's  content.  I  feel  like  giving  fresh  affront  to 
mine." 

He  draws  rein,  bringing  his  horse  to  a  halt.  Cal- 
deron does  the  same.  Scanning  the  equestrians  ahead, 
they  see  them  two  and  two,  the  pairs  some  ten  or 
twelve  paces  apart.  Crozier  and  Carmen  are  in  the 
advance;  Cadwallader  and  Inez  behind.  De  Lara 
looks  no*-,  at  the  latter  couple  :  his  e3Tes  are  all  upon 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  117 

ihe  fomier,  staring  with  fixed  intensity,  full  of  jealous 
fiie,  with  a  glare  such  as  only  a  tiger  might  give,  as  he 
sees  Carmen  turn  towards  her  escorting  cavalier,  and 
bend  over,  he  to  her,  till  their  heads  are  close  together 
and  their  lips  seem  to  meet. 

"  Carrail  the}*  are  kissing!  "  exclaims  the  Creole, 
in  a  tone  of  bitter  exasperation.  He  can  bear  it  no 
longer.  With  a  shout,  half  angiy,  half  anguished,  he 
digs  his  spur  deep,  and  dashes  forward. 

The  clattering  of  hoofs  behind  first  warns  Cadwalla- 
der,  who  is  nearest  to  the  noise  ;  for,  up  to  this  time, 
the  lovers,  absorbed  in  sweet  converse,  dream  not  of 
danger  behind.  The  young  Welshman,  glancing  back, 
sees  what  it  is,  at  the  same  time  hears  De  Lara's  wild 
cry.  Intuitively  he  understands  that  some  outrage  is 
intended, — a  repetition  of  the  morning's  work,  with, 
doubtless,  something  more.  Quickly  he  draws  his  dirk, 
not  now  to  be  used  in  sport,  for  the  mere  pricking  a 
horse,  but  in  earnest,  to  be  buried  in  the  boVly  of  a 
man,  if  need  be.  This  resolve  can  be  read  in  his  atti- 
tude, in  his  eyes,  in  his  features ;  these  no  longer 
bent  in  a  laugh  of  reckless  boyhood,  but  in  the  rigid, 
resolute  determination  of  manhood.  Badly  as  he  sits 
his  horse,  it  will  not  do  now  to  dash  against  him.  The 
collision  might  cost  life,  in  all  likelihood,  that  of  the 
aggressor 

De  Lara  sweeps  past  him  without  a  word,  without 
even  taking  notice  of  him.  His  affair  is  with  one  far- 
ther on. 

But  now  Calderon  is  coming  up,  clearly  with  the 
intent  to  assault,  as  shown  in  his  eyes.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, their  expression  changes  at  sight  of  the  bared 
blade,  —  that  diabolical  dirk.  Despite  the  pull  he  has 
just  taken  from  the  flask,  his  courage  fails  him  ;  and 


118  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

crestfallen,  as  a  knight  compelled  to  lower  his  plume 
he,  too,  passes  Cadwallader,  without  a  word,  riding  on 
after  De  Lara.  He  overtakes  the  latter  in  time  to  be 
spectator  of  a  scene  in  its  commencement  somewhat 
similar  to  that  enacted  by  himself,  but  with  very  differ- 
ent termination. 

Crozier,  whose  ear  has  also  caught  the  sounds  from 
behind,  draws  bridle,  and  looks  back.  He  sees  De 
Lara  making  towards  him,  and,  at  a  glance,  divines 
the  intent.  It  is  a  golpe  de  caballo,  or  collision  of 
horses,  —  a  common  mode  of  assault  among  Spanish 
Californians.  Instead  of  turning  aside  to  avoid  it,  he 
of  Shropshire  determines  on  a  different  course.  He 
knows  he  is  upon  a  strong  horse,  and  feels  confident  he 
can  sta}T  there.  With  this  confidence,  he  faces  towards 
the  advancing  enemy,  and,  after  taking  true  bearing, 
spurs  straight  at  him.  Breast  to  breast  the  horses 
meet;  shoulder  to  shoulder  the  men.  Not  a  word 
between  these  themselves,  both  too  maddened  to  speak. 
Only  a  cry  from  Carmen  Montijo,  a  shriek  from  Inez 
Alvarez,  heard  simultaneously  with  the  shock.  When 
it  is  over,  Don  Francisco  de  Lara  is  seen  rolling  upon 
the  road,  his  horse  kicking  and  floundering  in  the 
dust  beside  him.  Regaining  his  feet,  the  Californian 
rushes  to  get  hold  of  a  pistol,  whose  butt  protrudes 
from  his  saddle-holster.  He  is  too  late  :  Cadwallader 
has  come  up,  and  dropping  down  out  of  his  saddle, 
as  if  from  a  ship's  shrouds,  makes  himself  master  of 
the  weapon  and  its  companion.  Disarmed,  his  glitter- 
ing attire  dust-bedaubed,  De  Lara  stands  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  irresolute,  discomfited,  conquered.  He 
can  do  nothing  now,  save  storm  and  threaten,  iuter- 
larding  his  threats  with  curses —  "  Carajos!  "  —  spite- 
fully pronounced. 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  119 

The  ladies,  at  Crazier' s  request,  have  ridden  on 
ahead,  so  that  their  ears  are  not  offended. 

After  listening  to  the  ebullition  of  his  impotent 
spleen,  —  Cadwallader  all  the  while  loucuy  laughing  at 
it,  —  Crazier,  in  serious  tone,  says,  "  Mr.  De  Lara,  — 
for  your  card  tells  me  that  is  your  name,  —  take  a  sail- 
or's advice  :  go  quietly  to  your  quarters  ;  stow  yourself 
out  of  sight ;  and  stay  there  till  your  temper  cools 
down.  We  don't  want  you  to  walk.  You  shall  have 
3'our  horse,  though  not  your  shooting-irons.  These  I 
shall  take  care  of  myself,  and  may  return  them  to  you 
when  next  we  meet.  —  The  same  advice  to  3*011,  sir," 
he  adds,  addressing  Calderon,  who  stands  near,  equally 
cowed  and  crestfallen. 

After  dictating  these  humiliating  conditions,  —  which, 
nolens,  volens,  the  defeated  bravos  are  obliged  to  accept, 
—  the  young  officers  remount  their  horses,  and  trot  off 
to  rejoin  the  ladies. 

Having  overtaken  these,  the}*  continue  their  home- 
ward ride,  with  no  fear  of  its  being  again  interrupted 
by  a  golpe  de  caballo. 


120  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  HAST  A    CADIZ  !  " 

ON  leaving  Capt.  Lantanas,  Don  Gregorio  returns 
to  his  house,  though  not  direct.  He  has  busi- 
ness to  transact  in  the  town,  which  sta}'s  him.  He  has 
to  see  Don  Tomas  Silvestre,  the  shipping- agent,  and 
give  directions  about  inserting  the  advertisement  for 
sailors.  That  is  an  affair  that  will  occupy  only  a  few 
minutes.  But  he  has  another  with  the  agent,  of  a  more 
important  kind.  lie  is  intimately  acquainted  with 
Silvestre,  who  is,  like  himself,  a  Peninsular  Spaniard, 
and  a  Bisca}'an.  Don  Gregorio  knows  he  can  trust 
him,  and  does,  telling  him  all  he  has  told  Lantanas, 
making  further  known  the  arrangement  he  has  entered 
into  for  passages  to  Panama,  and  instructing  him  to 
assist  the  Chilian  skipper  in  procuring  a  crew.  The 
more  confidential  matter  relates  to  the  shipment  of  his 
gold-dust.  He  trembles  to  think  of  the  risk  he  runs 
of  losing  it.  San  Francisco  is  filled  with  queer  char- 
acters, —  men  who  would  stick  at  nothing.  Don  Tomas 
knows  this  without  being  told.  The  thought  haunts 
the  haciendado  like  a  spectre,  that  he  will  have  hia 
treasure  taken  from  him  by  theft,  burglary,  or  bold, 
open  robbery.  He  has  good  reason  for  so  thinking. 
Among  the  latest  accessions  to  the  population  of  San 
Francisco  all  three  classes  of  criminals  are  represented, 
and  in  no  stinted  numbers.  There  are  ticket-of-leave 
men  from  Australia,  jail-birds  from  the  penitentiaries 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  121 

of  liie  States,  ' scape- the-gallows  customers  from  every 
quarter  of  the  globe,  to  say  nothing  of  the  native  ban- 
dits, of  which  California  has  its  share.  If  known  to 
these  that  gold-dust  to  the  value  of  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  was  lying  unguarded  in  the  house  of 
Don  Gregorio  Montijo,  it  would  not  be  there  many 
daj*s  or  nights.  Its  owner  has  done  what  he  could  to 
keep  it  a  secret ;  but  the  sale  and  transfer  of  his  land 
have  leaked  out,  as,  also,  the  handsome  price  obtained 
and  paid  over  to  him :  hence  the  natural  inference 
oeing  that  the  cash  must  be  deposited  somewhere.  And 
every  one  well  knows  it  must  be  in  gold-dust,  since 
banks  have  not  yet  been  established,  and  there  are  not 
obtainable  notes  enough  in  San  Francisco  to  cover  a 
tenth  part  of  the  amount.  He  has  tried  to  convert  it 
thus,  —  as  more  convenient  for  carriage  and  safety,  — 
but  failed.  In  line,  after  confiding  his  fears  to  Silves- 
tre,  and  taking  counsel  from  him,  he  decides  upon  the 
plan  —  already  in  part  communicated  to  Capt.  Lantanas 
—  of  having  the  endangered  gold-dust  secretly  con- 
veyed to  the  "Condor"  as  soon  as  possible.  Don 
Tomas  will  provide  the  boat,  with  a  trust}'  sailor-servant 
he  has  attached  to  his  establishment,  to  assist  in  the 
removal  and  rowing.  They  can  take  it  aboard  without 
passing  through  the  town,  or  at  all  touching  at  the  port. 
The  boat  can  be  brought  to  the  beach  below  Don  Gre- 
gorio's  house,  and  the  gold  quietly  carried  down  to  :t. 
Thence  they  can  transport  it  direct  to  the  ship.  Once 
there,  Lantanas  will  know  how  to  dispose  of  it  =  and 
surely  it  will  be  safe  in  his  custody :  at  all  events,  safer 
there  than  anywhere  else  in  San  Francisco.  So  thinks 
Don  Gregorio,  the  ship-agent  agreeing  with  him. 

Soon   every   thing  is   settled ;  for  they   spend   not 
many  minutes  in  discussing  the  matter.     The  h  :icien* 
n 


122  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

dado  knows  that  by  this  time  his  house  will  be  empty, 
excepting  the  servants  ;  for  the  ride  on  which  his  girls 
have  gone  was  arranged  by  himself  to  gratify  his 
expected  visitors.  He  thinks  apprehensively  of  the 
unprotected  treasure,  and  longs  to  be  beside  it.  So, 
remounting  the  stout  horse  that  brought  him  to  town, 
he  rides  hastily  home. 

On  arrival  there,  he  retires  to  his  sleeping-apartment, 
where  he  spends  the  remainder  of  the  day,  and  gives 
orders  not  to  be  called  till  the  party  of  equestrians 
come  back.  But,  although  confining  himself  to  the 
chamber,  he  does  not  go  to  bed,  nor  otherwise  take 
repose.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  busy  throughout  the 
whole  afternoon,  getting  ready  his  treasure  for  the 
surreptitious  transport ;  for  it  is  there  in  the  room  — 
has  been,  ever  since  it  came  into  his  possession.  Almost 
fearing  to  trust  it  out  of  his  sight,  he  sleeps  beside  it. 
Some  of  it  is  in  bags,  some  in  boxes ;  and  he  now 
re-arranges  it  in  the  most  convenient  form  for  carriage 
to  the  "Condor,"  and  safe  stowage  in  her  cabin- 
iockers. 

He  has  not  jTet  completed  his  task  when  he  hears 
the  trampling  of  hoofs  on  the  gravelled  sweep  outside. 
The  riding-party  has  returned.  The  saguan-bell  rings  ; 
the  heavy  door  grates  back  on  its  hinges ;  and  soon 
after  the  horses,  with  the  riders  still  on  their  backs, 
stand  panting  in  the  patio. 

The  master  of  the  house  sallies  forth  to  receive  his 
guests.  He  sees  them  hastening  to  assist  the  ladies 
in  dismounting.  But,  before  either  cavalier  can  come 
near  them,  both  leap  lightly  out  of  their  saddles,  and, 
gliding  into  the  corridor,  fling  their  arms  around  Don 
Gregorio's  neck;  daughter  and  grand- daughter  alike 
styling  him  "  papa."     They  are  effusively  affectionate. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  123 

r^oiv;  than  usually  so;  for  this  night  both  have  ft 
favor  to  .ask  of  him.  And  he  knows,  or  can  gues3, 
what  it  is.  He  has  not  been  blind  to  what  ha?  been 
passing  between  them  and  the  young  English  officers 
He  suspects  that  vows  have  been  exchanged,  a  double 
proposal  made ;  and  anticipates  a  demand  upon  him- 
self to  sanction  it.  In  both  cases,  he  is  prepared  to 
do  so ;  for  he  is  not  unacquainted  with  the  character 
and  social  standing  of  those  seeking  an  alliance  with 
him.  He  has  been  aboard  the  British  frigate,  and  from 
Capt.  Bracebridge  obtained  information  on  these  points, 
satisfactoiy  in  ever}'  sense.  Both  the  young  officers 
bear  an  excellent  character.  Though  differing  in  other 
respects,  they  are  alike  skilled  in  their  profession ; 
each  "  eveiy  inch  a  seaman,"  as  their  commander 
worded  it.  Besides,  both  are  of  good  family ;  Cad- 
wallader  moderately  rich,  Crozier  in  prospect  of  great 
wealth ;  either  of  them  fit  mate  for  the  proudest  senora 
in  Spain.  His  reason  for  supposing  that  on  this  day 
engagements  have  been  entered  into,  is,  that  the  3'oung 
officers  are  about  to  take  departure  from  the  port.  The 
"  Crusader"  is  under  admiralty  orders  to  sail  for  the 
Sandwich  Islands  as  soon  as  a  corvette  coming  thence 
reaches  San  Francisco.  Capt.  Bracebridge  has  been 
commissioned  b}'  the  British  Government  to  transact 
some  diplomatic  business  with  King  Kame-Kameha ; 
that  done,  he  is  to  look  in  at  Mazatlan,  Aoapulco,  and 
some  other  Mexican  ports,  as  also  Panama  and  Callao ; 
then  home ;  afterwards  to  join  the  Mediterranean 
squadron.  As  the  "  Crusader,"  on  her  way  to  the 
Mediterranean,  will  surely  call  at  Cadiz,  the  vows  this 
day  exchanged  on  the  shore  of  the  Pacific  can  be  con- 
veniently renewed  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
At  dinner,  —  which  is  served  soon  after,  and  in  sump- 


124  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

tuous  style,  — Don  Gregorio  makes  his  guests  aware  of 
the  fact  that  he  has  secured  passages  for  Panama,  and 
inay  leave  San  Francisco  as  soon  as  they.  He  confides 
to  them  the  secret  of  his  having  chartered  the  Chilian 
ship ;  in  short,  telling  them  all  he  has  told  her  skip- 
per, echoing  the  lament  made  by  the  latter  about  his 
difficulty  in  obtaining  a  crew. 

"Perhaps,"  rejoins  Crozier,  after  hearing  this,  "I 
can  help  him  to  at  least  one  good  sailor.  Do  you 
think,  Will,"  Ire  continues,  addressing  himself  to  the 
young  Welshman,  "  that  Harry  Blew  is  still  in  San 
Francisco?     Or  has  he  gone  off  to  the  diggings?  " 

"  I  fancy  he's  still  here,"  responds  Cadwallader. 
"  He  was  aboard  the  'Crusader'  only  the  da}'  before 
yesterday,  having  a  shake  hands  with  his  old  com- 
rades of  the  forecastle." 

"  Who  is  the  Senor  Bloo?  "  asks  the  haciendado. 

"  A  true  British  tar,  —  if  you  know  what  that  means, 
Don  Gregorio, — lately  belonging  to  our  ship,  and  one 
of  the  best  sailors  on  her  books.  He's  off  them  now, 
as  his  time  was  out ;  and,  like  man}'  another  though  not 
better  man,  has  made  up  his  mind  to  go  gold-seeking 
on  the  Sacramento,  Still,  if  he  be  not  gone,  I  think  I 
might  persuade  him  to  bear  a  hand  on  the  craft  you 
speak  of.  It  was  once  Harry's  sinister  luck  to  slip 
overboard  in  the  harbor  of  Guaymas,  dropping  almost 
into  the  jaws  of  a  tintorero  shark,  and  my  good  for- 
tune to  be  able  to  rescue  him  out  of  his  perilous  plight. 
He's  not  the  man  to  be  ungrateful ;  and,  if  still  in  San 
Francisco,  I  think  you  may  count  upon  him  for  taking 
service  on  board  the  Chilian  ship.  True,  he's  only 
one,  but  worth  two ;  ay,  ten.  He  not  only  knows  a 
ship,  but,  on  a  pinch,  could  take  a  lunar,  and  make  good 
an}-  port  in  the  Pacific." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH    SE/'  .  125 

u  A  most  valuable  man  !  "  exclaims  -Dot/.  Gre^orio : 
u  would  be  worth  his  weight  in  gold  to  Capt.  Lanta- 
nas.  I'm  sure  the  Chilian  skipper  would  at  once  make 
him  his  mate.     Do  }'OU  suppose  }~ou  can  find  him?  " 

"  If  in  San  Francisco,  3*es.  We  shall  search  for 
him  this  very  night,  and,  if  found,  send  him  either  to 
the  Chilian  skipper,  or  to  the  ship-agent  you've  spoken 
of,  —  Silvestre.     By  the  way,  what's  his  address?  " 

"Here,"  answers  Don  Gregorio,  drawing  forth  a 
card,  and  handing  it  across  the  table  co  Crozier. 
"That's  the  place  where  Don  Toinas  transacts  busi- 
ness. It's  but  a  poor  little  shed  on  the  raoic,  near 
the  new  pier,  lately  constructed.  Indeed,  1  jcheve  he 
sleeps  thieve ;  house-rent  being  at  pxeseut  something 
fabulous." 

"This  will  do,"  says  Crozier,  putting  Lhe  card  into 
his  pocket.  "  If  Harry  Blew  can  be  lound,  he'll  not 
be  far  from  Silvestre's  office,  if  not  lo-night,  by  early 
daybreak  to-morrow  morning." 

It  is  not  the  custom  of  either  Spaniards  or  Spanish 
Americans  to  tarry  long  over  the  dinner-table.  The 
cloth  once  removed,  and  the  ladies  gone,  a  glass  or  two 
of  Port,  Xeres,  or  Pedro  Ximenez,  and  the  gentlemen 
also  retire  ;  not  for  business,  but  recreation  out  of 
doors,  so  pleasant  in  southern  climes. 

Dona  Carmen  with  her  niece  have  ascended  to  the 
azotea  to  enjoy  the  sweet  twilight  of  a  Calif ornian 
summer,  whither  they  are  soon  followed  b}r  Crozier 
and  Cadwallader.  The  master  of  the  house  has  for  a 
time  parted  with  them,  under  the  excuse  of  having  affairs 
to  attend  to.  It  is  to  complete  the  packing  of  his  gold- 
dust.  But,  while  emptying  their  last  glass  together, 
he  has  been  approached  b}T  the  young  officers  on  thai 
11* 


126  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

subject  uppermost  in  their  thoughts,  and  dearest  to 
their  hearts ;  aske"d  if  he  be  agreeable  to  become  the 
futher-in-law  of  one,  and  the  —  Cadwallader  had  diffi- 
culty in  finding  a  word  for  it  —  grandfather-in-law  of 
the  other.  To  both  he  has  given  the  same  answer, 
"  Yes."  No  wonder,  that,  with  bright  faces  and  bound- 
ing step,  thev  spring  up  to  the  housetop,  there  to  rejoin 
the  senoritas. 

Their  tale  told  to  the  latter  —  who  have  been  await- 
ing them  in  anxious  expectation  —  will  save  both  a 
world  of  confusion  and  blushes.  No  need  now  for  them 
to  talk  to  "papa."  His  consent  has  been  obtained : 
they  are  aware  he  will  keep  his  word. 

Again  the  four,  now  formally  betrothed,  separate  into 
twos,  taking  opposite  sides  of  the  azotea.  The}^  con- 
verse about  the  far  future, — that  awaiting  them  at 
Cadiz.  But  the  ladies  cannot  overlook  or  forget  some 
perils  more  proximate.  The  retrospect  of  the  day 
throws  a  shadow  over  the  morrow.  The  encounter 
with  De  Lara  and  Calcleron  cannot  end  without  further 
action.  Not  likely  ;  and  both  aunt  and  niece  recall  it, 
questioning  their  now  affianced  lovers,  adjuring  them 
to  refrain  from  fighting.  These  repty,  making  light  of 
the  matter,  —  declaring  confidence  in  their  own  strength 
and  skill,  whatever  be  the  upshot,  —  so  assuring  to 
their  sweethearts,  that  both  believe  them  invincible,  in- 
vulnerable. What  woman  is  there  who  does  not  think 
the  same  of  him  who  holds  her  heart  ? 

Time  passes :  the  last  moments  speed  silently  in 
the  old,  old  ecstasy  of  all-aosorbing,  tale-telling  love. 

Then  the  inevitable  "  Adios!"  thousrh  sounding 
less  harshly  by  favor  of  the  added  phrase,  "  Hasta 
Cadiz  I"  ["  Till  we  meet  at  Cadiz  !  "] 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  127 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ON    PLEASURE     BENT. 

TT1HE  clocks  of  San  Francisco  are  striking  the  hour 
JL  of  ten.  The  moon  has  shot  up  over  Monte  Di- 
ablo, and  sends  her  soft,  mellow  beams  across  the  waters 
of  the  bay,  imparting  to  their  placid  surface  the  sheen 
of  silver.  The  forms  of  the  ships  anchored  upon  it 
are  reflected  as  from  a  mirror,  with  masts  upside  down, 
every  spar,  sta}~,  and  brace,  even  to  the  most  delicate 
rope  of  their  rigging,  having  its  duplicated  representa- 
tive in  the  fictitious  counterfeit  beneath.  On  none  is 
there  any  canvas  spread  ;  and  the  unfurled  flags  do  not 
displa}"  their  fields,  but  hang  motionless  along  masts, 
or  droop  dead  down  over  tafFrails.  Stillness  almost 
complete  reigns  throughout ;  scarce  a  sound  proceeding 
either  from  the  ships  inshore,  or  those  that  ride  at  an- 
chor in  the  offing,  — not  even  the  rattle  of  a  chain  drop- 
ping or  heaving  an  anchor,  the  chant  of  a  night-watch 
at  the  windlass,  or  the  song  of  some  jovial  tar  entertain- 
ing his  messmates  as  they  sit  squatted  around  the  fore- 
castle stair.  Unusual  this  silence  at  such  an  early  hour, 
though  easily  accounted  for.  That  there  are  but  few 
noises  from  the  ships  in  San  Francisco  Bay  is  ex- 
plained by  the  fact  of  their  having  but  few  men  to 
make  them ;  in  many  cases  there  being  not  a  single 
kouI  aboard.  All  have  deserted,  —  either  for  good,  and 
are  gone  off  to  the  "  digging  ;  "  or  only  for  the  night, 
to  take  part  i  *  the  pleasures  and  dissipations  of  the 


123  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

town.  Now  and  then  a  boat  may  be  seen  patting  on* 
from  01  returning  to  the  side  of  some  of  those  bettei 
manned,  by  its  laborious  movement,  and  the  unmeas- 
ured stroke  of  oars,  telling  that  even  it  lacks  a  full 
complement  of  crew. 

Inside  the  town  every  thing  is  clifFerent.  There, 
there  are  noises  enough,  with  plenty  of  people,  crowded 
streets,  flashing  lights,  and  a  Babel-like  confusion  of 
voices.  It  is  now  the  hour  when  iniquity  has  com- 
menced its  nightly  career,  or,  rather,  reached  its  full 
flush ;  since  in  San  Francisco  certain  kinds  of  it  are 
carried  on  openly,  and  throughout  all  the  hours  of  day. 
Business-houses  are  closed ;  but  these  are  in  small 
proportion  to  the  places  of  pleasure,  which  keep  their 
doors  and  windows  wide  open,  and  where  dissipation 
of  all  kinds  reigns  paramount.  Into  the  gambling- 
saloons  go  men  laden  with  gold-dust,  often  coming  out 
with  their  wallets  lighter  than  when  the3T  went  in,  but 
their  hearts  a  great  deal  heavier.  After  toiling  for 
months  up  to  their  middle  in  the  chill  waters  of  streams 
that  course  down  from  the  eternal  snows  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  working,  washing,  while  so  occupied,  half 
starving,  they  return  to  San  Francisco  to  scatter  in  a 
single  night  — oft  in  one  hour  —  the  hoarded  gather- 
ngs  of  half  a  year. 

Into  this  pandemonium  of  a  city  are  about  to  enter 
two  personages  of  very  different  appearance  from  those 
usually  seen  loitering  in  its  saloons,  or  hastening  through 
its  streets  ;  for  the}T  are  the  3'oung  officers  belonging  to 
the  British  frigate,  —  Edward  Crozier  and  William  Cad- 
wallader,  —  returning  to  their  ship ;  not  directly,  as 
they  were  rowed  ashore,  but  through  the  town  ;  Crozier 
having  ordered  the  boat  to  be  brought  to  one  of  the 
tough  wooden   wharves   recently   erected.     They  ar$ 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  129 

advancing  along  the  shore-road  afoot,  having  declined 
their  host's  offer  of  horses,  both  saying  they  would 
prefer  to  walk  ;  Cadwallader  adding,  in  sailor  phrase, 
that  he  wished  to  "  kick  the  knots  out  of  his  legs,"  — ■ 
a  remark  but  obscurely  comprehensible  to  Don  Gre 
gorio.  For  some  time  after  leaving  his  house,  not  a 
word  passes  between  them.  Each  is  occupied  with  his 
own  thoughts,  the  sacredness  of  which  keeps  him 
silent,  absorbed  in  reflections  springing  from  that  ten- 
der but  painful  parting  with  others,  about  what  may 
be  before  them  in  the  far  uncertain  future.  For  a  time 
nothing  intrudes  upon  their  revery,  to  disturb  its  nat- 
ural course.  The  sough  of  the  tidal  surf  breaking 
upon  the  beach,  the  occasional  cry  of  a  straying  sea- 
bird,  or  the  more  continuous  and  monotonous  note  of 
the  chuck- will's- widow,  do  not  attract  their  attention. 
The}'  are  sounds  in  consonance  with  their  reflections, 
still  a  little  sad.  As  they  draw  nearer  to  the  city,  see 
its  flashing  lights,  and  hear  its  hum  of  voces,  other 
and  less  doleful  ideas  come  uppermost,  leading  to  con- 
versation.    Crozier  commences  it. 

"  Well,  Will,  old  fellow,  we've  made  a  day  of  it !  " 

"  That  we  have,  a  rousing  jolly  day  !  I  don't  thini 
I  ever  enjoyed  one  more  in  my  life." 

"  Only  for  its  drawbacks?  " 

"You  mean  our  affair  with  those  fellows?  Why, 
that  was  the  best  part  of  it,  so  far  as  fun.  To  see  the 
one  in  the  sky-blue  wrap,  after  I'd  dirked  his  horse, 
go  off  like  a  ship  in  a  gale,  with  nobody  at  the  helm ! 
By  Jove  !  it  ^as  equal  to  old  Billy  Button  in  the  cir- 
cus. And  then  the  other  you  bundled  over  in  the  road, 
as  he  got  up,  looking  like  a  clog  just  out  of  a  dust-bin. 
Oh!  'twas  delicious;  the  best  shore-adventure  I've 
had  since  joining  the  '  Crusader,'  — something  to  talk 
about  when  we  get  aboard." 


130  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Ay.  and  something  to  do  besides  talking.  We'vi 
got  a  little  writing  to  do  :  at  least,  I  have,  —  a  bit  of  a 
letter  to  this  swaggerer,  Mr.  Francisco  de  Lara." 

"  But  surely  you  don't  intend  challenging  him,  afte? 
what's  happened?  " 

"  Surely  I  do.  Though,  to  say  the  truth,  I've  no 
great  stomach  for  it,  seeing  the  sort  he  is.  It's  infra 
dig.  having  to  fight  one's  inferior,  though  it  be  with 
swords  or  pistols.  It  feels  like  getting  into  a  row  with 
roughs  in  some  slum  of  a  seaport." 

"You're  right  there;  and,  as  to  calling  this  fellow 
out,  I'd  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Ned.  He's  a  bad  lot : 
so  is  the*  other.  Blackguards  both,  as  their  behavior 
has  shown  them:  they  don't  deserve  to  be  treated  as 
gentlemen." 

"But  we're  in  California,  Will,  where  the  code  of 
the  duel  takes  in  such  as  they.  I  suppose  even  here 
thieves  and  cut-throats  talk  about  protecting  their 
honor,  as  the}*  term  it ;  ay,  and  often  act  up  to  their 
talk.  I've  been  told  of  a  duel  that  took  place,  not 
long  since,  between  two  professional  gamblers,  in  which 
one  of  them  was  shot  dead  in  his  tracks.  And  only 
the  other  day  a  judge  was  called  out  by  a  man  he  had 
tried,  and  convicted  of  some  misdemeanor,  who  not 
only  went,  but  actually  killed  the  fellow  who'd  stood 
before  him  as  a  criminal.  All  that  seems  very  absurd ; 
hut  so  it  is.  And  if  this  scarlet-cloaked  cavalier  don't 
slow  the  white-feather,  and  back  out,  I'll  either  have 
10  kill  or  cripple  him  ;  though,  like  enough,  he  may  do 
one  or  the  other  for  me." 

"But  don't  you  think,  Ned,  you've  had  enough  out 
of  him?  " 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"  Why,  in   the  way  of  revanche:    for  nry   part,   I 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  131 

should  decidedly  say  you  had  far  the  best  of  it.  A  ftei 
your  first  encounter  in  the  morning,  I  thought  differ- 
ently, and  would  have  so  counselled  you.  Then  the 
insult  offered  you  was  unpunished.  The  other  has  put 
a  different  face  on  the  affair ;  and,  now  that  he's  got 
more  than  he  gave,  I  think  you  should  rest  satisfied, 
and  let  things  stand  as  they  are,  if  he  do.  Certainly, 
after  that  knock  and  tumble,  it's  his  place  to  sing  out." 

''There's  something  in  what  you  say,  Will.  And 
now,  on  reflection,  I'm  not  so  sure  that  I'll  take  further 
trouble  about  the  fellow,  unless  he  insist  on  it,  which 
he  may  not,  seeing  he's  unquestionably  base  coin,  —  as 
you  say,  a  blackguard.  He  appears  a  sort  of  Califor- 
nian  bravo ;  and,  if  we  hadn't  secured  his  pistols,  I 
suppose  he'd  have  done  some  shooting  with  them. 
Well,  we'll  see  whether  he  comes  to  reclaim  them.  If 
he  don't,  I  shall  have  to  send  them  to  him.  Other- 
wise, he  may  have  us  up  before  one  of  these  duelling 
justices  on  a  charge  of  robbing  him. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  That  would  be  a  rare  joke,  an  ap- 
propriate ending  to  our  day's  fun." 

"Quite  the  contrary.  It  might  be  serious,  if  it 
should  reach  the  ears  of  Bracebridge.  The  old  disci- 
plinarian would  never  believe  but  that  we'd  been  in 
the  wrong,  taken  the  fellow's  pistols  from  him  for  a 
lark,  or  something  of  the  sort.  True,  we  could  have 
the  thing  explained,  both  to  the  San  Franciscan  magis- 
trate, and  the  frigate's  captain,  but  not  without  an 
exposure  of  names  and  circumstances,  that,  though  it 
might  be  appropriate  enough,  would  be  any  thing  but 
a  pleasant  finale  to  our  day's  fun,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Wall,  I  know  what  will,"  rejoins  Cadwallader, 
after  listening  patiently  to  his  comrade's  explanatory 
speech  ;  "  and  that's  a  glass  of  something  good.    Those 


132  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTKESS. 

sweet  Spanish  wines  of  Don  Gregorio  have  made  m« 
thirsty  as  a  fish.  Besides,  parting  with  my  dear  Inez 
has  got  my  heart  down ;  and  I  need  something  to  get  it 
up  again." 

"  All  right,  my  hearty  !  "  exclaims  Crozier,  for  the 
jest's  sake,  talking  sailor-slang.  "  I'm  with  you  in 
that  way.  For  this  day,  at  least,  we've  had  enough  of 
■war:  therefore  let's  end  it  with  another  w,  — wine." 

"For  m}'  part,"  responds  the  young  Welshman, 
"I'd  prefer  a  different  article,  which  has  the  other  w 
for  its  initial  letter  :  that's  whiskey.  If  we  could  only 
get  a  glass  of  good  Scotch  or  Irish  malt  in  this  mush- 
room city,  it  would  make  a  new  man  of  me  ;  which 
just  now  I  need  making.  As  I  tell  you,  Ned,  my 
heart's  down  —  dead  down  to  the  heels  of  nry  boots. 
I  can't  say  why,  but  there  it  is  ;  and  there,  I  suppose, 
it'll  stay,  unless  Dutch  courage  comes  to  the  rescue." 

"  Well,  you'll  soon  have  an  opportunity  of  getting 
that.  As  you  see,  we're  in  the  suburbs  of  this  grand 
city,  partly  constructed  of  canvas,  where,  though  food 
may  be  scarce,  and  raiment  scanty,  there's  liquor  in 
abundance.  In  the  Parker  House,  which  is,  I  believe, 
its  best  hotel,  we'll  be  sure  of  finding  almost  every 
beverage  brewed  upon  the  earth,  among  them  your 
favorite  whiskey,  and  mine,  —  '  Bass's  Bitter.'  " 

"Again  the  Spanish  saw,  '  Cada  urio  a  sa  gusto,' 
as  just  now  my  sweetheart  said.     But  let  us  step  out." 

"  Don't  be  in  such  hot  haste.  You  forget  we've 
something  to  do,  which  must  be  done  first, — before 
every  thing  else." 

"What?" 

"Look  up  Harry  Blew;  find  him,  if  we  can,  and 
coax  him  tc  take  service  in  this  Chilian  ship." 

"  He  won't  require  much  coaxing,  once  you  say  tbt» 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOOTH  SEA.  133 

word.  The  old  salt  is  any  thing  but  ungrateful  In- 
deed, his  regard  for  you,  ever  since  you  saved  him 
from  that  shark,  is  more  like  real  gratitude  than  any 
thing  I  ever  saw.  He  fairly  worships  you,  Ned.  He 
(old  me  the  day  before  he  left  the  '  Crusader,'  that 
parting  with  }Tou  was  the  only  thing  that  greatly 
grieved  him.  I  saw  the  tears  trickling  down  his 
cheeks  as  you  shook  hands  with  him  over  the  side. 
Even  then,  if  3-ou'd  said  stay,  I  believe  he'd  have 
turned  back  into  his  old  berth." 

" 1  didn't  because  I  wished  him  to  do  better.  You 
know  he'd  have  a  splendid  chance  here  in  California  to 
get  rich  by  gold-digging,  which  no  doubt  he  might,  like 
a  great  many  other  humble  sailors  as  himself.  But  now 
this  other  chance  has  turned  up  in  his  favor,  which  I 
should  say  is  surer.  Don  Gregorio  has  told  us  he  can 
get  from  the  Chilian  captain  almost  an}'  pay  he  may 
please  to  ask,  besides  a  fair  likelihood  of  being  made 
his  first  mate.  That  would  suit  Harry  to  a  hair,  be- 
sides, in  my  opinion,  answering  his  purpose,  far  better 
than  any  gold-seeking  speculation.  Though  a  man  of 
first  rating  aboard  ship,  he's  a  mere  child  when  ashore, 
and  would  be  no  more  able  to  protect  himself  against 
the  land-sharks  of  San  Francisco  than  he  was  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  that  sea- skimmer  at  Guaymas.  Even  if 
he  should  succeed  in  growing  rich  up  the  rivers,  I'd 
lay  large  odds  he'd  be  back  here  in  port,  and  poor  as 
evrer,  within  a  week.  We  must  save  him  from  that,  if 
we  can.  His  natural  element  is  the  ocean.  He  has 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  on  it ;  and  here's  a  fine 
opportunity  for  him  to  return  to  and  stay  upon  it — for 
life,  if  he  likes,  with  better  prospects  than  he  could 
even  have  had  on  board  a  man-o'-war.  The  question 
is,  how  we  shall  be  able  to  find  him  in  this  rookery  of  a 
12 


134  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

place.  Did  he  say  any  thing,  when  you  saw  him,  about 
where  he  was  sojourning?  " 

"  By  Jove  !  he  just  did.  Now  I  recall  our  conver- 
sation, 1  remember  him  telling  me  that  he  was  sta}*ing 
at  a  sort  of  boarding-house,  or  restaurant,  ca.led  the 
'  Saikr's  Home ; '  though  he  made  no  mention  of  the 
street.  But,  if  I  mistake  not,  I  know  the  place,  and 
can  steer  pretty  straight  for  it." 

"  Straight  or  crooked,  let's  set  head  for  it  at  once. 
We've  plenty  of  time,  if  that  were  all ;  for  I  told  the 
cockswain  not  to  come  for  us  till  well  after  eleven.  I 
want  to  see  something  of  this  queer  Californian  life,  of 
which  I  haven't  had  much  experience  yet." 

"  The  same  with  myself." 

"  Well,  we  may  never  again  get  such  a  chance.  In- 
deed, it's  not  likely  we  shall  either  of  us  be  allowed 
another  night  ashore  before  the  '  Crusader '  sails  :  there- 
fore, let  us  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,  or,  to  speak 
less  figuratively,  a  little  merriment  by  the  light  of  the 
moon.  We've  been  either  savage  or  sentimental  all 
the  day,  and  stand  in  need  of  changing  our  tune." 

"  You're  right  about  that ;  but  the  music  is  not  like- 
ly to  be  made  by  moonlight  —  not  much  of  it.  See 
those  great  clouds  rolling  up  }'onder  !  They'll  be  over 
the  sky  in  ten  minutes'  time,  making  every  thing  black 
as  a  pot  of  pitch." 

"  No  matter.  For  what  we  want,  gas-light  will  serve 
hs  well;  and  there's  plenty  of  that  in  San  Francisco. 
Jsow  for  Harry  Blew;  after  him,  whiskey  punches  at 
the  Parker." 

"And  -iter  that?" 

"  The  tables,  if  you  feel  so  inclined." 

44  Surely,  Ned,  you  don't  want  to  go  gambling?  " 

4*  I  want  to  see  life  in  San  Francisco,  a<i  I've  said  ; 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  135 

and,  as  30U  know,  gambling's  an  important  part  of  it. 
Yes ;  I  don't  mind  making  an  attempt  to  draw  the 
teeth  of  the  tiger.  Allons  I  or,  as  I  should  say  in  the 
softer  language  of  Andalusia,  Nos  vamos  f  " 

Thus  jocosely  terminating  the  conversation,  the 
young  officers  continue  on  at  increased  speed,  and  are 
soon  threading  the  streets  of  San  Francisco  in  search 
of  the  Sailor's  Home. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A    TAR     OF      THE     OLDEN      TTPE. 

HARRY  BLEW  is  a  tar  of  the  true  man-o'-war 
type,  this  of  the  olden  time,  when  sailors  were 
sailors,  and  ships  were  of  oak,  not  iron.  Such  ships 
aie  scarce  now  ;  but  scarcer  still  the  skilled  men  who 
handled  their  ropes,  and  kept  every  thing  ta.ut  and  trim  : 
in  short,  the  true  sailors.  Than  Harry,  a  finer  speci- 
men of  the  foremast-man  never  reefed  topsail,  or  took 
his  glass  of  grog  according  to  allowance.  Of  dark 
complexion  naturally,  exposure  to  sun,  sea,  and  storm, 
has  deepened  it,  till  his  cheeks  and  throat  are  almost 
copper-colored  ;  of  somewhat  lighter  tint  on  Sundays, 
after  they  have  had  their  hebdomadal  shave.  His  face 
'.s  round,  with  features  fairty  regular,  and  of  a  cheerful 
cast,  their  cheerfulness  heightened  b}*  the  sparkle 
of  bright  gray  eyes,  and  two  rows  of  sound  white 
teeth,  frequently,  if  not  continuously,  set  in  a  smile. 
A  thick  shock  of  curling  brown  hair,  with  a  well- 
greased    ringlet   drooping   down   over    each   eyeoiow. 


136  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

supports  a  round-rimmed,  blue-ribboned  hat,  set  we/ 
aback  on  his  head.  His  shaven  chin  is  pointed  and 
prominent,  with  a  dimple  below  the  lip ;  while  the 
beardless  jaws  curve  smoothly  down  to  a  well-shaped 
neck,  symmetrically  set  upon  broad  shoulders,  that 
give  token  of  strength  almost  herculean.  Notwith- 
standing an  amplitude  of  shirt-collar  which  falls  back 
full  seven  inches,  touching  the  shoulder-tips,  the  throat 
and  a  portion  of  the  expansive  chest  are  habitually 
exposed  to  view  ;  while  on  the  sun-browned  skin  of  the 
latter  may  be  seen  a  tattooed  anchor.  By  its  side,  not 
so  plainly  exposed,  is  the  figure  of  a  damsel  done 
in  dark  blue,  — no  doubt  a  souvenir,  if  not  the  exact 
similitude,  of  a  sweetheart,  —  some  Poll  of  past  time, 
or  perhaps  far-off  port.  But  there  is  a  doubt  whether 
Harry's  heart  has  been  true  to  her.  Indeed,  a  sus- 
picion of  its  having  been  false  cannot  fail  to  strike  any 
one  seeing  him  with  his  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  ;  since 
upon  the  flat  of  his  right  fore-arm  is  the  image  of 
another  damsel,  done  more  recently,  in  lighter  blue; 
while  on  the  left  is  a  Cupid  holding  an  unbent  bow, 
and  hovering  above  a  pair  of  hearts  his  arrow  has  just 
pierced,  impaling  them  through  and  through.  All 
those  amorous  emblems  would  seem  to  argue  our  true 
tar  inconstant  as  the  wind  with  which  he  has  so  often 
to  contend.  But  no,  nothing  of  the  kind.  Those  well 
acquainted  with  him  and  his  history  can  vouch  for  it 
that  he  has  never  had  a  sweetheart,  save  one,  —  she 
represented  in  that  limning  of  light  blue ;  and  tc  her 
was  he  true  as  steel  up  to  the  hour  of  her  death, 
which  occurred  just  as  she  was  about  to  become  Mrs. 
Blew,  And  that  sad  event  has  kept  him  a  bachelor  up 
to  the  present  hour  of  his  life.  The  girl  on  his  breast 
m  dark  blue  is  a  merely  mythical   personage,  though 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  131 

indelibly  stained  into  his  skin  by  a  needle's  point  and 
a  pinch  of  gunpowder,  done  by  one  of  his  man-o'-wai 
shipmates  while  he  was  still  only  a  sailor-lad.  He  is 
now  fort}'  3'ears  of  age,  nearly  thirty  of  which  Zie  haa 
passed  upon  the  sea ;  being  off  it  only  in  short  spells, 
while  his  ship  has  been  in  port.  And  he  has  seen  ser- 
vice on  several  ships,  — corvettes,  frigates,  double  and 
treble  deckers,  —  all  men-of-war,  in  which  he  has 
thrice  circumnavigated  the  globe.  For  all,  he  is  yet 
hale,  hearty,  and  in  the  perfect  plenitude  of  his 
strength,  only  with  a  slight  stoop  in  the  shoulders,  as 
if  caught  from  continually  swarming  up  shrouds,  or 
leaning  over  the  yard  while  stowing  sails.  This  gives 
him  the  appearance  of  being  shorter  than  he  really  is  ; 
for  when  straightened  up,  with  back  well  braced,  he 
stands  six  feet  in  his  stockings.  And  his  limbs  show 
symmetrical  proportion.  His  duck  trousers,  fitting 
tightly  over  the  hips,  display  a  pair  of  limbs  supple 
and  sinewy,  with  thighs  that  seem  all  muscle  from  wkin 
to  bone. 

In  spite  of  his  sterling  qualities  as  a  seaman,  and 
uoble  character  as  a  man,  Harry  has  never  risen  to  any 
rank  in  the  service.  With  him  has  it  been  literally 
true,  "Once  a  sailor,  still  a  sailor ;  "  and  though  long 
ago  rated  an  A.B.  of  the  first  order,  above  this  he  has 
not  ascended  a  single  step.  Were  he  to  complain, 
which  he  rarely  ever  does,  he  would,  in  all  probability, 
say  that  non-promotion  has  been  due  to  independence 
of  spirit,  or,  shaping  it  in  his  own  phraseology,  owing 
to  his  "  not  having  boot-licked  the  swabs  above  him." 
And  there  is  some  truth  in  this,  though  another  reason 
might  be  assigned  b}'  those  disposed  to  speak  slighting- 
ly of  him,  —  that,  although  liking  salt  water,  he  has  a 
decided  antipathy  to  that  which  is  fresh,  unle  »s  when 

12* 


138  THE  FLAG  OF  B1STRESS. 

taken  with  an  admixture  of  rum ;  then  he  is  too  fon  1 
of  it.  It  is  his  only  fault,  barring  which,  a  better  man 
than  Harry  Blew  —  and,  when  sober,  a  steadier  —  never 
trod  the  deck  of  a  ship. 

As  already  said,  he  has  trod  many,  the  latest  being 
that  of  the  "  Crusader  ;"  in  which  vessel  he  has  spent 
five  years  of  his  life.  His  engagement  terminating 
almost  on  the  ver}r  day  she  dropped  anchor  before  San 
Francisco,  he  has  been  set  free,  either  to  sta}T  in  the 
ship,  by  entering  his  name  upon  her  books  for  a  fresh 
period  of  service,  or  step  out  of  her,  and  go  cruising 
on  his  own  account  whithersoever  he  may  wish.  Tak- 
ing into  consideration  the  state  of  things  in  San 
Francisco  just  at  this  very  time,  it  is  not  strange  that 
he  elected  to  leave  the  ship.  It  would  be  stranger  if 
he  had  even  hesitated  about  it ;  though  this  he  had 
indeed  done,  for  some  days  lingering  witn  mind  only 
half  made  up.  But  the  golden  lure  proved  at  length 
,too  temptingly  attractive  ;  and,  3-ielding  to  it,  he  took 
a  last  leave  of  his  old  shipmates,  was  pulled  ashore, 
and  has  since  been  sojourning  at  the  Sailor's  Home ; 
for  he  is  still  there,  as  Cadwallader  rightly  surmised. 

The  Sailor's  Home  is  a  hostlery  —  half  eating-house, 
half  drinking-saloon  —  of  somewhat  unpretentious 
appearance ;  being  a  rough,  weather-boarded  house, 
without  planing  or  paint,  and  only  two  stories  in 
height.  But  if  low  in  structure,  it  is  high  enough  in 
its  charges,  as  Harry  Blew  has  learned ;  these  being 
out  If  all  proportion  to  the  outside  appearance  of  the 
place  and  its  interior  accommodation,  though  in  keep- 
ing with  the  prices  of  all  other  like  houses  of  entertain- 
ment in  San  Francisco.  Harry's  original  intention  was 
to  make  only  a  short  stay  at  the  Sailor's  Home,  — just 
long  enough  to  put  him  through  a  bit  of  a  spree,  foi 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  139 

which  twelve  months'  pay,  received  from  the  frigate's 
purser  at  leaving,  had  amply  provided  him.  Then  he 
would  start  for  the  Feather  River,  or  some  other  tribu- 
tary stream  of  the  Sacramento.  The  first  part  of  this 
programme  has  been  already  carried  out,  with  some- 
thing besides ;  that  something  being  the  complete 
expenditure  of  all  his  pay,  —  every  shilling  he  received 
from  the  purser,  —  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of 
time.  He  has  been  scarcely  six  days  ashore  when  he 
discovers  his  cash  exchequer  quite  cleared  out.  As  for 
credit,  there  is  no  such  thing  in  San  Francisco. 

Since  landing,  Harry  has  not  very  carefully  kept  his 
dead  reckoning,  and  is  at  first  somewhat  surprised  to 
find  himself  so  far  out  in  it.  He  has  plunged  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  without  encountering  coin.  He  has 
searched  in  his  sea-chest,  and  eveiy  other  receptacle 
where  he  has  been  accustomed  to  cany  cash,  with  simi- 
lar disappointing  result.  What  can  have  become  of 
his  twelve  months'  wage,  drawn  on  the  day  he  left  the 
4 '  Crusader  "  ?  It  has  all  disappeared  !  No  wonder  he  is 
unable  to  account  for  its  disappearance  ;  for,  ever  since 
that  day,  he  has  been  any  thing  but  himself:  in  short, 
he  has  given  way  to  dissipation  of  longer  continuance 
than  ever  before  in  his  life.  It  has  lasted  six  days, 
with  most  part  of  six  nights,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
he  has  only  pulled  up  for  the  want  of  cash  to  continue 
it  i  credit  being  declined  him  at  the  very  counter 
over  which  he  has  passed  all  his  pay. 

Impecuniosity  is  an  unpleasant  predicament  in  any 
country,  and  at  all  times  :  but  in  the  San  Francisco  of 
1849  it  was  a  positive  danger,  where  six  dollars  were 
demanded  and  obtained  for  the  most  meagre  of  meals ; 
the  same  for  sleeping  on  a  blanketless  bed,  in  a  chilly 
night,  within  a  rough  weather-boarded  room,  or  under 


140  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

the  yet  thinner  shelter  of  a  canvas  tent.  It  was  a 
boon  to  be  allowed  to  lie  on  the  lee-side  of  a  wooden* 
walled  stable,  but  cost  mone}^  for  the  privilege  of  sleep- 
ing in  a  stall,  with  straw  litter  for  couch,  and  the  heat 
of  the  horses  in  lieu  of  coverlet. 

In  the  necessity  of  seeking  some  such  indifferent  ac* 
cominodation,  Harry  Blew  finds  himself,  on  the  seventh 
night  after  having  received  his  discharge  from  the  "Cru- 
sader." And  as  he  has  now  got  somewhat  sobered, 
with  brain  clear  enough  to  think,  it  occurs  to  him  that 
the  time  is  come  for  carrying  out  the  second  part  of 
his  programme  ;  that  is,  going  to  the  gold-diggers.  But 
how  to  get  off,  and  then?  These  are  separate  ques- 
tions, to  neither  of  which  can  he  give  a  satisfactory 
answer.  Passage  to  Sacramento,  by  steamer,  costs 
over  a  hundred  dollars,  and  still  more  by  stage.  He 
has  not  a  shilling,  not  a  red  cent ;  aiid  his  sea-kit  sold 
would  not  realize  a  sum  sufficient  to  pay  his  fare,  even 
^f  it  (the  kit)  were  free.  But  it  is  not :  on  the  con- 
trary, embargoed,  quodded,  by  the  keeper  of  the  Sail- 
or's Home,  against  a  couple  of  da}'s  of  unpaid  board 
and  lodging,  with  sundry  imbibings  across  the  counter, 
still  scored  on  the  slate. 

The  discharged  man-o'-war's-man  sees  himself  in  a 
dread  dilemma,  all  the  more  from  its  having  a  double 
horn.  He  can  neither  go  to  the  gold-diggings,  nor 
stay  in  the  Sailor's  Home.  Comparatively  cheap  aa 
may  be  tb.s  humble  hostelry,  it  is  yet  dear  enough 
to  demand  ten  dollars  a  day  for  indifferent  bed  and 
board.  This  has  been  bad  enough  for  Harry  Blew, 
even  though  but  a  foremast-man  ;  but  he  is  threatened 
with  a  still  worse  condition  of  things.  Inappropriate 
the  title  bestowed  on  his  house ;  for  the  owner  of  the 
u  Home  "  has  not  the  slightest  hospitality  in  his  heart, 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  141 

He  has  discovered  that  his  English  guest  is  impecuni- 
ous ;  this  by  the  two  da}*s'  board,  and  as  many  nights' 
bed,  remaining  unpaid.  There  is  a  notice  conspicu- 
ously posted  above  the  bar,  that  "  scores  must  be  set- 
tled daily."  And  Harry  Blew,  having  disregarded  this, 
has  received  private  but  positive  notice  of  auothei 
kind,  to  the  effect  that  he  is  forthwith  to  discontinue 
taking  a  seat  at  the  table-cVlwte,  as  also  to  surrender 
up  his  share  of  the  bed  he  has  been  occupying.  At 
this,  the  discharged  man-o'-war's-man  has  shown  no 
anger  ;  nor  does  he  feel  in  airy  way  affronted.  He  has 
that  correct  sense  common  to  sailors,  with  most  others 
who  have  seen  travel  in  strange  lands,  and  knows,  that, 
when  cash  is  not  forthcoming,  credit  cannot  be  expected. 
In  California,  as  elsewhere,  such  is  the  universal  and 
rigorous  custom,  to  which  man  must  resign  himself. 
The  English  sailor  is  only  a  bit  sorry  to  think  he  has 
expended  his  cash  so  freely,  a  little  repentant  at  hav- 
ing done  it  so  foolishly,  and,  on  the  whole,  a  good 
deal  down-hearted. 

But  there  is  a  silver  lining  to  the  cloud.  The  "  Cru- 
sader" is  still  in  port,  and  not  expected  to  sail  for  some 
days.  He  may  once  more  place  his  name  upon  the 
frigate's  books,  and  rejoin  her.  He  knows  he  will  not 
only  be  received  back  by  her  commander,  but  welcomed 
by  all  his  old  officers  and  shipmates.  A  word  spoken 
to  the  first  boat  coming  ashore,  and  all  will  be  well. 
Shall  he  speak  such  word  ?  That  has  be  3ome  the  ques- 
tion ;  for  in  this,  as  every  other  step  in  life,  there  is  a 
pro  and  contra.  Humiliating  the  thought  of  going 
back  to  service  on  the  ship,  after  taking  leave  of  every 
body  aboard ;  returning  to  a  dingy  forecastle,  to  toil, 
and  the  handling  of  tarry  ropes,  after  the  bright  dreams 
he  has  been  indulging  in  ;  to  forego  the  gatherii  g  of 


142  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

gold-dust,  and  the  exchanging  it  for  doubloons  or  dol« 
lars :  in  short,  turning  his  back  upon  fortune,  the 
prospect  of  a  life-competence,  perhaps  plenitude  of 
wealth,  with  its  resulting  ease  and  idleness,  and  once 
more  facing  stormy  seas,  with  only  hard  knocks  and 
laborious  work  in  store  for  him  throughout  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

While  the  sovereigns  were  still  clinking  in  his  pock- 
ets, this  was  the  dark  side  of  the  picture ;  towards 
Sacramento,  the  bright  one.  Now  that  the  pockets 
are  empty,  every  thing  seems  changed,  and  the  silver 
lining  lies  on  the  side  of  the  ship.  Still  the  sailor 
hesitates  how  to  decide.  Despite  the  pressure  upon 
him,  he  ponders  and  reflects,  as  he  does  so,  plunging 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  apparently  searching  for 
coin.  It  is  merely  mechanical ;  for  he  knows  he  has 
not  a  shilling. 

While  thus  occupied,  he  is  seated  in  the  little  sanded 
bar-room  of  the  "  Home,"  alone  with  the  bar-keeper; 
the  latter  eying  him  with  an}T  thing  but  a  sympathetic 
air  ;  for  the  book  is  before  him,  showing  that  indebted- 
ness for  bed  and  board,  to  say  nothing  of  the  unsettled 
bar-score ;  and  the  record  makes  a  bar-sinister  between 
them.  Another  drink  could  not  be  added  now,  even 
though  but  a  bottle  of  ginger-beer.  The  door  of  credit 
is  closed  ;  and  onlv  cash  could  procure  an  extension  of 
a  hospitality  hitherto  scant  enough. 

The  sailor  things.  Must  he  surrender?  —  ghe  up 
his  dreams  of  fingering  3*ellow  gold,  and  return  to 
handling  black  ropes?  A  glance  at  the  grim,  unro- 
laxed,  and  unrelenting  visage  of  the  bar-keeper,  decides 
him.  His  decision  is  expressed  *  in  characteristic 
speech,  not  addressed  to  the  drink-dispenser,  nor  aloud 
but  in  low,  sad  soliloquy. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  140 


*t 


Wi'  nie,  I  see,  the  old  savin's  to  stan'  good, — 
i  Once  a  sailor,  still  a  sailor.'  Harry,  you'll  steer 
back  for  the  '  Crusader.'  " 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

UNEXPECTED   VISITORS. 

HAVING  resolved  upon  returning  to  his  ship, 
and  that  very  night  if  he  can  but  get  a  boat, 
Harry  Blew  is  about  to  sally  forth  into  the  street,  when 
his  egress  is  unexpectedly  prevented.  Not  by  the  land- 
lord of  the  Sailor's  Home,  nor  his  representative,  who 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  a  guest  with  two 
da}'s'  reckoning  in  arrear  ;  for  they  have  surreptitiously 
inspected  his  sea-chest,  and  found  it  to  contain  a  ful. 
suit  of  "  Sunday  go-ashores,"  with  other  effects,  which 
ihej  deem  sufficient  collateral  security  for  the  debt. 
And,  as  it  has  been  already  lrypothecated  for  this,  both 
Boniface  and  bar-keeper  would  rather  rejoice  to  see 
their  sailor-guest  clear  out  of  the  "  Home  "  for  good, 
leaving  the  sea-chest  behind  him.  On  this  condition 
they  would  be  willing  to  wipe  out  the  debt,  both  board- 
ing and  bar  score. 

Harry  has  no  thought  of  thus  parting  with  his  kit . 
Now  that  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  the 
"Crusader,"  a  letter  prospect  is  opened  up  to  him. 
He  has  hopes,  that  on  his  making  appearance  aboard, 
and  again  entering  his  name  on  the  frigate's  books,  the 
purser  will  advance  him  a  sum  suffic  ent  to  release  the 
kit.     Or  he  can,  in  all  likelihood,  collect  the  moneT 


144  THE  FLAG  OF   DISTRESS. 

among  his  old  messmates.  Not  for  this  reason  only  ia 
be  anxious  to  reach  the  ship  that  night,  but  because 
be  has  no  other  chance  of  having  anyplace  to  sleep  in, 
sa  70  the  street.  Both  landlord  and  bar-keeper  have 
notified  him,  in  plain  terms,  that  he  must  peremptorily 
leave ;  and  he  is  about  to  act  upon  their  notification, 
and  take  his  departure,  when  prevented,  as  already 
said.  What  has  hindered  him  from  going  out  of  the 
"  Home  "  is  a  man  coming  into  it;  or,  rather,  two; 
since  two  shadows  have  suddenly  darkened  the  door, 
and  are  projected  across  the  sanded  floor  of  the  bar- 
toom.  Not  like  shadows  in  the  eyes  of  Harry  Blew,  but 
streaks  of  brightest  sunlight ;  for,  in  the  individuals 
entering,  he  recognizes  two  of  his  officers,  —  one  ol 
them  his  best  friend,  and  the  preserver  of  his*  life. 
Crozier  and  CadwaHader  have  found  him. 

At  sight  of  th^m,  the  discharged  sailor  salutes 
promptly,  and  with  as  much  respect  as  if  it  were  on 
the  quarter-deck  of  the  "Crusader,"  but  with  much 
more  demonstration  ;  for  their  well-timed  appearance 
draws  from  him  an  exclamation  of  joy.  Jerking  off 
his  straw  hat,  and  giving  a  twitch  to  one  of  his  brow- 
locks,  he  bobs  his  head  several  times  in  succession, 
with  a  simultaneous  backscrape  of  his  foot  upon  the 
floor. 

His  obeisance  ended,  he  stands  silently  awaiting 
whatever  cemmunication  the  young  officeis  have  to 
make.  He  is  alread}*  aware  that  their  business  is  with 
himself ;  for  the  bar-room  is  but  dimly  lighted ;  and 
Crozier,  while  crossing  its  threshold,  not  at  once  recog- 
nizing him,  called  out  the  question,  "  Is  there  a  sailor 
sta}Ting  here,  by  name  Hariy  Blew?  " 

"Ay,  ay,  sir  !  "  was  the  prompt  response  ;  the  sailor 
himself  giving  it,  along  with  the  salutation  described, 


A   STORY  OF   THE  SOUTH   SEA.  14a 

During  the  short  interval  of  silence  that  succeeds, 
Harry's  heart  can  be  distinctly  heard  beating.  Lately 
depressed,  "  down  in  the  dumps,"  as  lie  himself  would 
word  it,  it  is  now  up  to  his  throat.  The  sight  of  his 
patron,  the  preserver  of  his  life,  is  like  having  it  saved 
a  second  time.  Terhaps  they  have  come  to  ask  him 
to  rejoin  the  ship?  If  so,  'tis  the  very  thing  he  was 
thinking  of.  He  will  not  anticipate,  but  waits  for 
them  to  declare  their  errand. 

"Well,  Harry,  old  boy,"  says  Grozier,  after  warmly 
shaking  the  sailor's  hand,  "  I'm  right  glad  to  find  yon 
here.     I  was  afraid  3*011' d  gone  off  to  the  diggings." 

"  True,  Master  Ed'ard.  I  did  intend  standin'  on 
that  tack,  but  hadn't  been  able  to  get  under  way,  for 
want  o'  a  wind." 

"  Want  of  a  wind?     I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"Wiry,  }'OU  see  sir,  I've  been  a  little  bit  spreeish 
since  comin'  ashore,  and  my  locker's  got  low  ;  more'n 
that,  it's  total  cleared  out.  Though  I  suppose  there's 
plenty  o'  gold  in  the  diggin's,  it  takes  gold  to  get 
there  ;  and,  as  I  ha'n't  any,  I'm  laid  up  here  like  an  old 
hulk  foul  o'  a  mud-bank.  That's  just  how  it  is,  gen- 
tlemen." 

"In  which  case,  perhaps  you  mightn't  feel  indisposed 
to  go  to  sea  again  ?  "     ( 

"  Just  the  thing  I  war  thinkin'  o',  Master  Edward. 
I'd  a' most  made  up  my  mind  to  it,  sir,  an'  war  'bout 
startin'  to  try  to  get  aboard  the  old  '  Crusader,'  and 
askin'  your  honor  to  ha'  my  name  entered  on  her  books 
again.  I'm  willin'  to  join  for  a  fresh  term,  if  they'll 
take  me." 

"  They'd  take  and  be  glad  to  get  you,  Harry,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that.  Such  a  skilled  sailor  as  you 
nee  i  never  be  without  a  ship,  where  there's  a  British 

13 


146  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

man-<cf-war  within  hailing-distance  ;  but  we  don't  wan( 
you  to  join  the  '  Crusader.'  " 

"  How  is  that,  sir?" 

"Because  we  can  help  you  to  something  a  little 
better :  at  least,  it  will  be  more  to  your  advantage  in 
a  pecuniary  sense.  You  wouldn't  mind  shipping  in  a 
merchant-vessel,  with  wages  three  or  four  times  as 
much  as  you  can  get  in  a  man-of-war?  How  would 
you  like  that,  Harry?  " 

"  I'd  like  it  amazin'ry,  sir  !  And  for  the  matter  o 
being  a  merchanter,  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  so 
long's  you  recommend  it.  I'll  go  as  cook,  if  }Tou  tell 
me  to." 

"  No,  no,  Harry,  not  that!"  laughingly  replies  the 
young  officer.  "  That  would  never  do.  I  should  pity 
those  who  had  to  eat  the  dishes  3'011'd  dress  for  them. 
Besides,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  stewing  your 
strength  awa}^  in  front  of  a  galley-fire.  You  must  do 
better  than  that;  and  it  chances  I'm  authorized  to 
offer  you  something  better.  It's  a  berth  on  board  a 
trading-ship,  and  one  with  some  special  advantages. 
She's  a  Chilian  vessel ;  and  her  captain  is,  I  believe, 
either  Chilian  or  Spanish.  That  won't  make  any  dif- 
ference to  you  ? ' ' 

"Not  a  doit,  sir!  I  don't  care  what  the  ship's 
colors  be,  nor  what  country  her  skipper,  so  long's  he 
allows  good  wages  an'  plenty  o'  grub." 

"  And  plenty  of  grog  too,  Harry?  " 

"  Ay,  a}T,  sir !  I  confess  to  a  weakness  for  that, 
Jeastways  three  times  a  da}*." 

"  No  doubt,  3-011' 11  get  it  as  often  as  you've  a  mind. 
But,  Harry,  1  have  a  word  to  say  about  that.  Besides 
my  interest  in  yowv  own  welfare,  I've  another  and 
more   selfish   one   in  this  Chilian  ship.     So  has  Mr. 


A  STORY    OF  THE   SOUTH  SLA.  147 

Cadwallader.  We  both  want  you  to  se  on  3-oin  best 
behavior  during  the  trip  you're  to  take  in  her.  On 
board  will  be  two  lacly-passengers  as  far  as  Panama ; 
for  the  ship  is  bound  thither,  and  for  other  ports  be}T>nd, 
I  believe  as  far  as  Valparaiso.  But  the  ladies  are  to 
*and  at  Panama ;  and,  so  long  as  the3r're  with  you, 
you  must  do  every  thing  in  your  power  to  make  things 
agreeable  for  them.  If  they  should  ever  be  in  any 
danger,  — from  storm,  shipwreck,  or  otherwise, — you'll 
stand  by  them  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  Harry,"  adds  Cadwallader  :  "  you'll  do  that, 
won't  you?" 

4 'Lor,  3'our  honors!"  replies  the  sailor,  showing 
surprise.  "  Sure,  ye  needn't  'a  put  sich  questin  to  me, 
a  British  man-o'-war's-man!  I'd  do  that  much,  any- 
how, out  o'  sheer  starn  sense  o'  duty.  But  when  it 
come  to  takin'  care  o'  two  ladies,  to  say  nothin'  about 
theer  bein'  so  young,  an'  so  beautiful"  — 

"  Avast,  Hany  !  How  do  }Tou  know  they  are  either 
one  or  the  other?"  asks  Crozier,  surprised  ;  Cadwalla- 
der repeating  the  question. 

"  Lor  love  ye,  masters!  Do  ye  think  a  common 
sailor  ha'n't  no  e3*es  in  his  head  for  an}-  thin'  but  ropes 
an*  tar?  You  forget  I  wur  o'  the  boat's  crew  as  rowed 
two  sweet  creeturs  on  board  the  '  Crusader,'  the  night 
o'  the  grand  dancin',  an'  arterward  took  the  same 
ashore,  along  wi'  two  young  gentlemen  as  went  to  see 
'em  home.  Sure,  sirs,  actin'  cocks 'n  on  tha  t  occasion,  t 
wouldn't  help  hearin'  some  o'  the  speeches  as  passed  in 
the  starn-sheets,  though  they  wur  spoke  in  the  ears  o' 
the  saynoritas,  soft  as  the  breeze  that  fanned  their  fait 
cheeks,  an'  brought  the  color  out  on  'om  red  as  Rib* 
3ting  pippins." 

"Avast  again,  you  rascal!     So  you've  been  eaves* 


148  THE  FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

dropping,  have  you?     I  quite  forgot  you  understood 
Spanish." 

"  Only  a  trifle,  Master  Ed'ard." 
1  Too  much  for  that  occasion." 

"Ah,  well,  }Tour  honor!  it  may  stand  me  in  stead 
Aboard  the  ship  you  speak  o'." 

"  Well,  Harry,  I'm  not  going  to  scold  you,  seeing 
chat  you  couldn't  help  hearing  what  }Tou  did.  And 
now  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  the  young  ladies  3'ou 
saw  that  night  in  the  boat  are  the  same  who  are  to  be 
passengers  in  the  Chilian  ship.  -You'll  take  good  care 
of  them,  I  know." 

4 ^That  you  may  depend  on,  sir.  Any  one  as  touches 
hair  o'  their  heads,  to  do  'em  any  injury,  '11  have  to 
tear  the  whole  o'  his  off  the  head  o'  Harry  Blew.  I'll 
see  'em  safe  to  Panama,  or  never  show  there  myself. 
I  promise  that ;  an'  I  think  both  your  honors' 11  take 
the  word  o'  a  British  man-o'-war's-man." 

"That's  enough.  Now  to  give  3-011  the  necessary 
directions  about  joining  this  ship.  She's  13'ing  at 
anchor  somewhere  about  in  the  ba}T ;  but  3-011' 11  find 
her  easity  enough.  And  3-ou  needn't  go  in  search  of 
her  till  3Tou've  seen  the  gentleman  whose  name  and 
address  are  upon  this  card.  You  see,  '  Don  Tomas 
Silvestre,'  a  ship-agent,  whose  office  is  down  in  one 
of  the  streets  by  the  strand.  Report  3-ourself  to  him 
ilrst  thing  in  the  morning.  In  all  likelihood,  he'll  en- 
gage 3-0U  on  sight,  make  out  3-our  papers,  and  give  you 
full  directions  for  getting  aboard  the  ship.  It  appears 
she's  short  of  hands ;  indeed,  even  without  ft  single 
sailor.  And,  03'  the  way,  Harry,  if  you  apply  soon 
enough,  it's  good  as  certain  3Tou'll  be  made  first  mate ; 
all  the  more  from  your  being  able  to  speak  Spanish. 
It's  too  late  for  3tou  to  do  any  thing  about  it  to-night; 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  149 

out  doi.'t  oversleep  yourself.     Be  at  the  ship-agent's 
to-morrow,  betimes." 

"  Ye  can  trust  me  for  that,  sir.  I'll  t^ow  my  figure- 
head there  first  thing  in  the  mornin'  ;  an'  I  an't  afeerd 
o'  no  or.  a  gettin'  aboard  afore  me,  if  they've  not  gone 
a'ready." 

"I  think  no  one  will  be  before  j'ou :  I  hope  not. 
Send  us  word  how  you  have  succeeded,  as  the  '  Cru- 
sader' will  likely  be  in  port  long  enough  for  us  to 
hear  from  you.  Still,  as  she  may  sail  on  short  notice, 
we  may  not  see  you  again.  Remember,  then,  what 
we've  said  about  the  senoritas.  We  shall  rely  upon 
your  fidelity." 

"  Ay,  well  may  ye,  masters.  You  can  both  trust 
your  lives  to  Harry  Blew,  an'  those  of  them  as  is  dear 
to  you." 

"All  right,  old  boy!"  exclaims  Crozier,  satisfied. 
"We  must  part;  but  let's  hope  we'll  me^t  again. 
When  3'ou  get  back  to  England,  you  know  where  to 
find  me.  Now  good-by.  Give  us  a  grip  of  your  hon- 
est hand,  and  God  bless  you  !  " 

Sa3^ing  this,  he  grasps  the  horny  hand  of  the  sailor, 
and  warmly  presses  it.  The  pressure  is  returned  by  a 
squeeze,  that  gives  assurance  of  more  than  ordinary 
friendship.  It  is  a  grip  of  true  gratitude ;  and  the 
look  which  accompanies  it  tells  of  a  devoted  friendship 
bordering  on  adoration. 

Cadwallader  also  exchanges  a  like  parting  salutation ; 
after  which,  the  }*oung  officers  start  off  to  continue 
their  cruise  through  the  streets. 
13« 


150  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

AN    OHOSTITABLE    HOME. 

HARRY  BLEW  stands  in  the  doorway  of  th« 
Sailor's  Home,  watching  the  two  gentlemen  aa 
they  walk  away,  his  eyes  glowing  with  gratitude,  and 
sparkling  with  jo}r.  And  no  wonder,  considering  the 
change  in  his  situation  brought  about  b}' their  influence. 
Ten  minutes  before,  his  spirits  were  at  their  lowest  and 
darkest.  But  the  prospect  of  treble  or  quadruple  pay 
on  board  a  snug  ship,  though  it  be  a  trading-vessel, 
with  the  additional  chance  of  being  mate  instead  of 
foremast-man,  has  given  them  a  fillip,  not  only  return- 
ing them  to  their  ordinary  condition,  but  raising  them 
lo  their  highest  and  brightest.  The  only  damper  is 
regret  at  parting  with  the  fine  young  fellow  who  has 
done  so  much  for  him.  But  he  has  passed  through  that 
alread}',  when  separating  from  his  ship,  and  can  now 
better  bear  it  under  the  reflection,  that,  though  apart 
from  his  patron,  he  will  have  an  opportunity  of  doing 
something  to  show  his  gratitude.  He  knows  how  much 
Crozier  is  interested  in  the  well-being  of  Carmen 
Montijo,  —  for  H any  has  been  made  acquainted  with 
her  name,  as  also  that  of  Inez  Alvarez  ;  and  to  be 
intrusted  with  a  sort  of  guardianship  over  the  young 
girls  is  a  proud  tnought  to  the  ex-man-o'-war's-man. 

To  carry  out  the  confidence  reposed  in  him  will  be 
a  labor  of  love ;  and  he  vows  in  his  heart  it  shall  be 
done,  if  need  be  at  the  risk  a*"  life.     Indeed,  the  inter* 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOtJTH  SEA.  151 

'i  *yw  just  ended  has  made  a  new  man  of  him  in  more 
senses  than  one :  for  upon  the  spot  he  regis'  ers  a 
mental  resolve  to  give  up  dram-drinking  for  life,  or,  at 
all  events,  till  he  has  seen  his  charge  —  the  two  senori- 
tas  —  safe  landed  at  Panama,  and  the  Chilian  ship 
snug  in  the  harbor  of  Valparaiso.  After  that,  he  is 
less  sure  that  he  may  not  again  go  upon  a  big  spree. 

Heaving  a  sigh  as  the  young  officers  pass  out  of 
sight,  he  turns  back  into  the  bar-room.  It  is  no  longer 
a  question  of  his  going  aboard  the  "Crusader."  He 
must  remain  ashore,  to  be  up  betimes  in  the  morn- 
ing, so  that  he  ma}^  be  early  at  the  office  of  the  ship- 
agent.  And  now,  again,  a  shadow,  though  only  a 
slight  one,  comes  over  his  spirit.  He  has  still  before 
him  the  undetermined  question,  where  he  is  to  sleep. 
Notwithstanding  his  fine  prospects  for  the  future,  the 
present  is  yet  unchanged.  Unfortunately  he  did  not 
think  of  this  while  the  young  officers  were  with  him, 
else  a  word  would  have  made  all  well.  Either  of 
them,  he  doubted  not,  would  have  relieved  his  necessi- 
ties, had  they  been  but  told  of  them.  Too  late  now : 
the}T  are  gone  out  of  sight,  out  of  hail,  and  whither  he 
cannot  tell  or  guess.  To  attempt  searching  for  them 
in  such  crowded  streets  would  be  only  a  waste  of  time. 
While  thus  ruefully  reflecting,  he  is  confronted  by  the 
bar-keeper,  whose  countenance  is  now  beset  with  smiles. 
The  fellow  has  got  it  into  his  head  that  his  sailor-guest 
is  no  longer  impecunious.  The  navy  gentlemen  lust 
gone  have  no  doubt  been  to  engage  him  for  their  ship, 
and  perhaps  made  him  an  advance  of  w:.ges. 

"Well,  my  salt,"  says  he,  in  a  tone  of  jocular  famil- 
iarity, "  I  guess  you've  got  the  shiners  now,  an*  kiij 
settle  up  your  score?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir !  "  answers  Harry,  more  than  ever 
taken  aback.    "  I'm  sorry  to  say  f  hain't," 


152  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"  And  what  hev  them  gold-buttoned  fellers  been 
palaverin'  ye  about?" 

"  Not  about  money,  master.  Them's  two  o'  the 
officers  belongin'  to  my  old  ship,  —  the  British  frigate 
4  Crusader.'    An'  fine  j^oung  fellows  they  be  too." 

14  Much  good  their  finikin  fineness  seem  to  hev  done 
you  !  So  they  hain't  gin  you  nuthin'  better  than  their 
talk,  hev  they?     Nuthin'  besides?  " 

"  Nothing  besides,"  rejoins  Blew,  restraining  his 
temper,  a  little  touched  by  the  bar-keeper's  inquisitive- 
ness,  as  also  his  impertinent  manner. 

"  Nuthin'  but  fine  words,  eh?  Well,  thar's  plenty 
o'  them  'bout  hyar  ;  but  they  won't  butter  no  parsnips. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  my  man,  they  won't  pay  your 
board-bill." 

"  I  know  that,"  returns  the  sailor,  still  keeping  his 
temper.     "  But  I  hope  to  have  money  soon." 

"  Oh  !  that's  been  your  story  for  the  last  two  days  ; 
but  it  won't  bamboozle  me  any  longer.  You  get  no 
more  credit  here." 

"  Can't  I  have  supper  and  bed  for  another  night?  " 

"No:  that  you  can't." 

"  I'll  pay  for  them  first  thing  in  the  mornin'." 

"  You'll  pay  for  'em  this  night  —  now,  if  yon  calc'- 
late  to  get  'em.  An',  if  j'ou've  no  cash,  'tain't  any 
use  talkin'.  What  d'ye  think  we  keep  a  tavern  for? 
'Twould  soon  be  to  let,  — bars,  beds,  and  all,  — if  we'd 
only  such  customers  as  3-011.  So  the  sooner  you  walk 
off,  the  better  the  landlord' 11  like  it.  He's  jest  gin  me 
orders  to  tell  ye  clear  out." 

"  It' 3  gallows  hard,  master,"  sajTs  Harry,  heaving  a 
sigh,  "  the  more  so  as  I've  got  the  promise  of  a  good 
berth  'board  a  ship  that's  down  in  the  harbor.  The 
gentlemen  you  seed  have  just  been  to  tell  me  about  it.' 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  153 

"  Then  why  didn't  they  give  you  the  money  to  cleai 
your  kit?  " 

"  They'd  have  done  that,  no  doubt  of  it.  \f  I'd  only 
thought  o'  askin'  them.     I  forgot  all  about  it." 

"  Ah,  that's  all  very  fine,  a  likely  tale  ;  but  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  If  they  cared  to  have  you  in 
their  ship,  they'd  have  given  }'OU  the  wherewithal  to 
get  there.  But,  come!  it's  no  use  shillyshallyin'  any 
longer.  The  landlord  won't  like  it.  He's  given  his 
orders  sharp  :  Pay,  or  go." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  go." 

"You  must;  an,'  as  I've  already  said,  the  sooner 
you're  off  the  better." 

After  delivering  this  stern  ultimatum,  the  bar-keeper 
jauntily  returns  behind  his  bar,  to  look  more  blandly 
on  two  guests  who  have  presented  themselves  at  it, 
called  for  "refreshments,"  and  tossed  down  a  couple 
of  dollars  to  pay  for  them. 

Harry  Blew  turns  towards  the  door,  and,  without 
saying  another  word,  steps  out  into  the  street.  Once 
there,  he  does  not  stop,  or  stand  hesitating.  The  hos- 
pitality of  the  so-called  "  Home"  has  proved  a  sorry 
sham ;  and,  indignant  at  the  shabby  treatment  re- 
ceived, he  is  but  too  glad  to  get  away  from  the  place. 
All  his  life  used  to  snug  quarters  in  a  fine  ship's  fore- 
castle, with  every  thing  found  for  him,  he  has  never 
before  experienced  the  pang  of  having  no  place  to 
sleep  He  not  only  feels  it  now  in  all  its  unpleasant- 
ness, but  fancies  the  passers-by  can  perceive  his 
humiliation.  Haunted  by  this  fancy,  urged  on  by  it, 
he  hurries  his  steps ;  nor  stays  them  till  out  of  sight 
of  the  Sailor's  Home,  out  of  the  street  in  which  the 
inhospitable  tavern  stands.  He  even  dislikes  the  idea 
of  having  to  go  back  for  his  chest,  which,  howc*  erv 
he  must  some  time  do. 


154  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

Meanwhile,  what  is  to  become  of  hini  for  the  remain* 
tier  of  that  night?  Where  is  he  to  obtain  supper  and  a 
bed?  About  the  latter  he  cares  the  least ;  but,  having 
had  no  dinner,  he  is  hungr}',  —  half- famished,  —  and 
could  eat  a  pound  or  two  of  the  saltest  and  toughest 
junk  ever  drawn  out  of  a  ship's  cask.  In  this  un- 
happy mood  he  stra}~s  on  along  the  street.  There  is 
no  lack  of  food  before  his  eyes,  almost  within  touching 
of  his  hand,  but  only  to  tantalize,  and  still  further 
whet  the  edge  of  his  appetite.  Eating-houses  are  open 
all  around  him ;  and  under  their  blazing  gas-jets  he 
can  see  steaming  dishes,  and  savory  joints,  in  the  act 
of  being  set  upon  tables  surrounded  03-  guests  seeming 
hungry  as  himself,  but  otherwise  better  off.  He,  too, 
might  enter  without  fear  of  being  challenged  as  an 
intruder ;  for  among  the  men  inside  are  many  in  coarse 
garb,  some  of  them  not  so  respectably  apparelled  as 
himself.  But  what  would  be  the  use  of  his  entering  a 
restaurant  without  even  a  penn}-  in  his  pockets  ?  He 
could  onty  gaze  at  dishes  he  may  not  eat,  and  dare 
not  call  for.  He  remembers  his  late  discomfiture  too 
keenly  to  risk  having  it  repeated.  Thus  reflecting,  he 
turns  his  back  upon  the  tables  so  temptingly  spread, 
and  keeps  on  along  the  street.  Still  the  double  ques- 
tion recurs :  Where  is  he  to  get  supper  ?  and  where 
sleep?  Now,  as  ever,  is  he  out  of  sorts  with  him- 
self for  not  having  given  his  confidence  to  the  young 
gentlemen,  and  told  them  of  the  "fix"  he  was  in. 
Either  would  have  relieved  him  on  the  instant,  without 
a  word.  But  it  was  too  late  now  for  regrets.  By  this 
time,  in  all  likelihood,  they  have  started  back  to  their 
ship.  How  he  wished  himself  aboard  the  "  Crusad* 
er  "  !  How  happy  he  would  feel  in  her  forecastle, 
among  his  old  shipmates !     It  cannot  be ;  and  there« 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  155 

fore  it  is  i&h  to  think  of  it.  What  on  earth  is  he  to 
do?  A  thought  strikes  him.  He  thinks  of  the  ship- 
agent  "whose  card  Crozier  left  with  him,  and  which  he 
has  thrust  into  his  coat-pocket.  He  draws  it  out,  and 
holds  it  up  to  a  street-lamp,  to  make  himself  acquainted 
with  the  ship-agent's  address.  The  name  he  remem- 
bers, and  needs  not  that.  Though  but  a  common 
sailor,  Harry  is  not  altogether  illiterate.  The  seaport 
town  where  he  first  saw  the  light  had  a  public  school 
for  the  poorer  people,  in  which  he  was  taught  to  read 
and  write. .  By  the  former  of  these  elementary  branches, 
supplemented  by  a  smattering  of  Spanish  picked  up  in 
South  American  ports  he  is  enabled  to  decipher  the 
writing  upon  the  card,  for  it  is  in  writing,  and  so  gets 
the  correct  address,  both  the  street  and  number. 
Having  returned  it  to  his  pocket,  he  buttons  up  his 
dreadnought,  and,  taking  a  fresh  hitch  at  his  duck 
trousers,  starts  off  again,  this  time  with  fixed  intent,— 
to  find  the  office  of  Don  Tomas  Silvestre. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    "BANK"    EL   DORADO. 

AMONTfi  bank  in  the  city  of  San  Franciscc,  in 
the  establishment  ycleped  ';E1  Dorado,"  part 
drinking-house,  the  other  part  devoted  to  gambling  on 
the  grandest  scale.  The  two  are  carried  on  simulta- 
neously, and  in  the  same  room,  — -  an  oblong  saloon  big 
enough  for  both.  The  portion  of  it  devoted  to  Bac- 
chus is  at  one  end,  — that  farthest  from  the  entrance* 


156  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

door,  where  the  shrine  of  the  jolly  god  is  represented 
by  a  liquor-bar  extending  from  side  to  side,  and 
backed  by  an  array  of  shining  bottles,  glittering 
glasses,  and  sparkling  decanters  ;  his  worship  adminis- 
tered by  half  a  dozen  bar-keepers  resplendent  in  white 
shirts  with  wrist-ruffles,  and  big  diamond  breast-pins, 
—  real,  not  paste. 

The  altar  of  Fortuna  is  altogether  of  a  different 
shape  and  pattern,  occup3Ting  more  space.  It  is  not 
compact,  but  extended  over  the  floor,  in  the  form  of 
five  tables,  large,  as  if  for  billiards  ;  though  not  one  of 
them  is  of  this  kind.  Billiards  would  be  too  slow  a 
game  for  the  frequenters  of  El  Dorado.  They  could 
not  patiently  wait  for  the  scoring  of  fifty  points,  even 
though  the  stake  were  a  thousand  dollars.  "No,  no! 
monte  for  me!"  would  be  the  word  of  every  one  of 
them  ;  or  a  few  might  say,  "  faro  I  "  And,  of  the  five 
tables  in  the  saloon,  four  are  for  the  former  game, 
the  fifth  furnished  for  the  latter ;  though  there  is  but 
little  apparent  difference  in  the  furniture  of  the  two ; 
both  having  a  simple  cover  of  green  baize  or  broad- 
cloth, with  certain  crossing-lines  traced  upon  it ;  that 
of  the  faro  table  having  the  full  suit  of  thirteen  cards 
arranged  in  two  rows,  face  upwards,  and  fixed ;  while 
on  the  monte  tables  but  two  cards  appear  thus,  — the 
Queen  and  Knave;  or  as  designated  in  the  game, 
purely  Spanish  and  Spanish  American,  Caballo  and 
Soto.  They  are  essentially  card-games,  and  altogether 
of  chance,  just  as  is  the  throwing  of  dice. 

In  the  El  Dorado  there  are  other  modes  to  get  rid  of 
money,  or  make  it  if  chance  so  decides,  —  a  rare 
eventuality,  save  in  the  case  of  the  professional  gab- 
blers themselves.  In  one  corner  of  the  saloon  may  be 
seen  a  roulette-table  ;  in  another,  a  bac\gammon-boarcl, 


A   STORY   OF    THE   SOUTH   SEA.  157 

with  dice-boxes  and  cubes  appertaining,  not  used  lor 
the  simple,  innocent  game  which  the  light  leathern 
case  with  its  checkered  cover  represents,  but  in  the 
dead,  naked  casting  of  dice  ;  doubloons  or  dollars 
changing  hands  at  every  throw.  Other  gambling  con- 
trivances have  place  in  the  El  Dorado ;  for  it  is  a 
"hell"  of  the  most  complete  kind;  but  these  are  of 
slight  importance  compared  with  the  great  games, 
monte  and  faro,  the  real  pieces  de  resistance;  while 
the  others  are  only  side-dishes,  indulged  in  by  such 
saunterers  about  the  saloon  as  do  not  contemplate 
serious  pla3T.  Of  all,  monte  is  the  main  attraction, 
its  convenient  simplicity- -for  it  is  as  simple  as  tossing 
"  heads  or  tails" — making  it  possible  for  the  veriest 
greenhorn  to  take  part  in  it,  with  as  much  chance  of 
success  as  the  oldest  habitue.  Originally  Mexican,  in 
California  and  other  Western  States  it  has  become 
thoroughly  Americanized. 

Of  the  visible  insignia  of  the  game,  and  in  addition 
to  the  two  cards  with  their  faces  turned  up,  there  is  a 
complete  pack,  with  several  stacks  of  circular-shaped 
and  variously-colored  pieces  of  ivory,  —  the  "  checks  " 
or  counters  of  the  game.  These  rest  upon  the  table  to 
trie  right  or  left  of  the  dealer,  usually  the  "  banker' ' 
himself,  in  charge  of  his  croupier,  who  pa}-s  them  out, 
or  draws  them  in,  as  the  bank  loses  or  wins,  along  with 
such  coin  as  may  have  been  staked  upon  the  cards. 
Around  the  table's  edge,  and  in  front  of  each  player, 
is  his  own  private  pile,  usually  a  mixture  of  doubloons, 
dollars,  and  ivory  checks,  with  bags  or  packets  of 
gold-dust  and  nuggets.  Of  bank-notes  there  are  few 
or  none,  the  currency  of  California  being  through  the 
medium  of  metal ;  at  this  time  (1849)  most  of  it  un- 
minted,  and  in  its  crude  state,  as  it  came  out  of  the 
14 


158  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

mine,  or  the  river  mud.  By  the  croupier's  hand  is  a 
pah*  of  scales  with  weights  appertaining;  their  pur- 
pose, to  ascertain  the  value  of  such  little  gold  packages 
as  are  placed  upon  the  cards,  this  only  needed  to  be 
known  when  the  bank  is  loser.  Otherwise,  they  are 
ruthlessly  raked  in  alongside  the  other  deposits,  with- 
out any  note  made  of  the  amount. 

The  dealer  sits  centrally  at  the  side  of  the  table,  in 
a  grand  chair,  cards  in  hand.  After  shuffling,  he  turna 
their  faces  up,  one  by  one,  and  with  measured  slow- 
ness. He  interrupts  himself  at  intervals,  as  the  face 
of  a  card  is  exposed,  making  a  point  for  or  against 
him  in  the  game.  Calling  this  out  in  calm  voice  and 
long-drawn  monotone,  he  waits  for  the  croupier  to 
square  accounts,  which  he  does  by  drawing  in,  or  push- 
ing out,  the  coins  and  checks,  with  the  nimbleness  of  a 
prestidigitateur.  Old  bets  are  re-arranged,  new  ones 
made,  and  the  dealing  proceeds. 

Around  the  tables  sit  or  stand  the  players,  exhibit- 
ing a  variety  of  facial  types  and  national  costumes. 
For  there  }*ou  ma}'  see  not  only  human  specimens  of 
every  known  nationality,  but  of  every  rank  in  the 
social  scale,  with  the  callings  and  professions  that  ap- 
pertain to  it,  —  an  assemblage  such  as  is  rarely,  if  ever, 
seen  elsewhere.  Gentlemen  who  may  have  won  uni- 
versity honors ;  officers  wearing  gold  straps  on  their 
shoulders,  or  bands  of  lace  around  the  rims  of  their 
caps ;  native  Californians  resplendent  in  slashed  and 
buttoned  velveteens ;  States'  lawyers  or  doctors,  in 
sober  black ;  even  judges,  that  same  morning  seated 
upon  the  bench,  —  may  be  all  observed  at  the  month 
table,  mingling  with  men  in  red  flannel  shirts,  blanket- 
coats,  and  trousers  tucked  into  the  tops  of  mud -be- 
daubed boots,  with    sailora    in   pea-jackets   of  coarse 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  159 

pilot,  or  Guernsey  smocks,  unwashed,  unkempt,  un- 
shorn, not  only  mingling  with,  but  jostled  by  them, 
rudely  if  occasion  call.  All  are  on  equality  here,  no 
i  lass  distinction  in  the  saloon  El  Dorado  ;  for  all  are 
on  the  same  errand, — to  get  rich  by  gambling.  The 
gold  gleaming  over  the  table  is  reflected  in  their  faces, 
not  in  smiles,  or  cheerfully,  but  an  expression  of  hun- 
gry cupidity,  fixed  as  if  stamped  into  their  features. 
No  sign  of  hilarity  or  joyfulness,  not  a  word  of  badi- 
nage passing  about  or  between,  scarce  a  s}*llable 
spoken,  save  the  call-words  of  the  game,  or  an  occa- 
sional remark  by  the  croupier,  explanatory  of  some 
disputed  point  about  the  placing  or  payment  of 
stakes.  And  if  there  be  little  light  humor,  neither  is 
there  much  of  ill  manners.  Strangely  assorted  as  is 
the  motley  crowd,  in  part  composed  of  the  roughest 
specimens  of  humanity,  noisy  speech  is  exceptional, 
and  rude  or  boisterous  behavior  rare.  Either  shown 
would  be  resented,  and  soon  silenced,  though,  perhaps, 
not  till  after  some  noises  of  still  louder  nature, — the 
excited,  angry  clamor  of  a  quarrel,  succeeded  by  the 
cracking  of  pistols  ;  then  a  man  borne  off  wounded,  in 
all  likelihood  to  die,  or  already  dead,  and  stretched 
along  the  sanded  floor,  to  be  taken  unconcernedly  up, 
and  carried  feet  foremost  out  of  the  room. 

And  yet  in  an  instant  it  will  all  be  over.  The  game- 
sters, temporarily  attracted  from  the  tables,  will  return 
to  them ;  the  dealing  of  the  cards  will  be  resumed  ; 
and  midst  th§  chinking  of  coin,  and  the  rattling  of 
checks,  the  sanguinary  drama  will  not  only  cease  to  be 
talked  about,  but  thought  of.  Bowie-knives  and  pistols 
are  the  police  that  preserve  order  in  :ne  saloons  of  San 
Francisco. 

Although  the  El  Dorado  is  owned  by  a  single  indi« 


160  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

viclual,  that  is  only  as  regards  the  house  itself,  witb 
the  drinking-bar  and  its  appurtenances.  The  gam- 
bling-tables are  under  separate  and  distinct  proprietor- 
ship ;  each  belonging  to  a  "  banker,"  who  supplies  the 
cash  capital,  and  other  necessaries  for  the  game;  in 
short,  "  runs  "  the  table,  to  use  a  Californian  phrase. 
As  already  stated,  the  owner  of  such  a  concern  is  him- 
self generally  the  dealer,  and  usually,  indeed  almost 
universally,  a  distinguished  "  sportsman;"  this  being 
the  appellation  of  the  Western  States'  professional 
gambler,  occasionally  abbreviated  to  "sport."  He  is 
a  man  of  peculiar  characteristics,  though  not  confined 
to  California.  His  like  may  be  met  with  all  over  the 
United  States,  but  more  frequently  in  those  of  the 
South  and  South-west.  The  Mississippi  Valley  is  his 
congenial  coursing-ground,  and  its  two  great  metro- 
politan cities,  New  Orleans  and  St.  Louis,  his  chief 
centres  of  operation  ;  Natchez,  Memphis,.  Vicksburg, 
Louisville,  and  Cincinnati  being  places  provincial, 
which  he  onty  honors  with  an  occasional  visit.  He  is 
encountered  aboard  all  the  big  steamboats,  those 
called  "  crack,"  and  carrying  the  wealthier  class  of 
passengers ;  while  the  others  he  leaves  to  the  more 
timid  and  less  noted  practitioners  of  his  calling. 
Wherever  seen,  the  "sport"  is  resplendent  in  shirt- 
front,  glittering  studs,  with  a  grand  cluster  of  dia- 
monds upon  his  finger  that  sparkles  like  a  stalactite  as 
he  deals  out  the  cards.  He  is,  in  truth,  an  elegant  of 
the  first  water,  apparelled  and  perfumed  as  a  D'Orsav 
or  Beau  Brummell,  and,  although  ranking  socially 
lower  than  these,  has  a  sense  of  honor  qaite  as  high 
perhaps  higher  than  had  either. 


A  STOBY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  1G\ 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  MONTE  BANK  IN  FULL  BLAST. 

IN  the  saloon  El  Dorado,  as  already  said,  theie  are 
five  gambling-tables  side  by  side,  but  with  wide 
spaces  between  for  the  players.  Presiding  over  the 
one  which  stands  central  is  a  man  of  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  of  good  figure,  and  well-formed  features,  the 
latter  denoting  Spanish  descent ;  his  cheeks  clean 
shaven';  the  upper  lip  mustached ;  the  under  having  a 
pointed  imperial,  or  "  goatee,"  which  extends  below 
the  extremity  of  his  chin.  He  has  his  hat  on  (so  has 
everybody  in  the  room) ,  —  a  white  beaver,  set  upon  a 
thick  shock  of  black  wavy  hair,  its  brim  shadowing  a 
face  that  would  be  eminently  handsome,  but  for  the 
e}Tes,  that  show  sullen,  if  not  sinister.  These,  like  his 
hair,  are  coal-black  in  color,  though  he  rarely  raises 
their  lids  ;  his  gaze  being  habitually  fixed  on  the  cards 
held  in  his  hands.  Once  only  has  he  looked  up  and 
around,  on  hearing  a  name  pronounced,  —  Montijo. 
Two  native  Californians  standing  close  behind  him  are 
engaged  in  a  dialogue,  in  which  they  incidental^  speak 
of  Don  Gregorio.  It  is  a  matter  of  no  moment,  only  a 
slight  allusion ;  and,  as  their  conversation  is  almost 
instantly  over,  the  monte  dealer  again  drops  his  long 
dark  lashes,  and  goes  on  with  the  game,  his  features 
resuming  their  wonted  impassibility. 

Though  to  all  appearance  immobile  as  those  of  the 
sjminx,  one  watching  him  closely  could  see  that  there 

14* 


162  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

is  something  in  his  mind  besides  month.  For  although 
the  play  is  running  high,  and  large  bets  are  being  laid, 
he  seems  regardless  about  the  result  of  the  game  —  for 
this  night  only,  since  it  has  never  been  so  before.  His 
air  is  at  times  abstracted,  more  than  ever  after  hearing 
that  name  ;  while  he  deals  out  the  cards  carelessly,  once 
or  twice  making  mistakes.  But  as  these  have  been 
trifling,  and  readily  rectified,  the  players  around  the 
•:able  have  taken  no  particular  notice  of  them,  nor  yet 
of  his  abstraction.  It  is  not  sufficiently  manifest  to 
attract  attention ;  and,  with  the  wonderful  command 
he  has  over  himself,  none  of  them  suspect  that  he  is  at 
that  moment  a  prey  to  reflections  of  the  strongest  and 
bitterest  kind. 

There  is  one,  however,  who  is  aware  of  it,  knowing 
the  cause ;  this,  a  man  seated  on  the  players'  side  of 
the  table,  and  directly  opposite  the  dealer.  He  is  a 
personage  of  somewhat  spare  frame,  a  little  below 
medium  height,  of  swarth  complexion,  and  straight 
black  hair,  to  all  appearance  a  native  Californian, 
though  not  wearing  the  national  costume,  but  simply  ^ 
suit  of  black  broadcloth.  He  lays  his  bets,  staking 
large  sums,  apparent!}'  indifferent  as  to  the  result ; 
while  at  the  same  time  eying  the  deposits  of  the  other 
pla3Ters  with  eager,  nervous  anxiety,  as  though  their 
losses  and  gains  concerned  him  more  than  his  own,  — 
the  former,  to  all  appearance,  gladdening  him ;  the 
.alter  troubling  him.  His  behavior  might  be  deemed 
&t range,  and  doubtless  would,  were  there  any  one  to 
observe  it.  But  there  is  not :  each  player  is  absorbed 
m  his  own  play,  and  the  calculation  of  chances.  In 
addition  to  watching  his  fellow-gamesters  around  the 
table,  this  eccentric  individual  ever  and  anon  turns  his 
eye  upon  the  dealer  ;  its  expression  at  such  times  being 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  163 

that  of  intense  earnestness,  with  something  that  resem- 
bles reproof,  as  though  annoyed  by  the  latter  handling 
his  cards  so  carelessly,  and  would  sharply  rebuke  him, 
if  he  could  get  the  opportunity  without  being  observed  ; 
the  secret  of  the  whole  matter  being,  that  he  is  a  sleep- 
ing-partner in  the  monte  bank,  — the  moneyed  one,  too, 
most  of  its  capital  having  been  supplied  by  him  :  Lence 
his  indifference  to  the  fate  of  his  own  stakes  (for  win- 
ning or  losing  is  all  the  same  to  him) ,  and  his  anxiety 
about  those  of  the  general  circle  of  pla}*ers.  His  part- 
nership is  not  suspected,  or,  if  so,  only  by  the  initiated. 
Although  sitting  face  to  face  with  the  dealer,  no  sign 
of  recognition  passes  between  them  ;  nor  is  any  speech 
exchanged.  The}-  seem  to  have  no  acquaintance  with 
one  another,  beyond  that  begot  out  of  the  game.  And 
so  the  play  proceeds,  amidst  the  clinking  of  coin,  and 
clattering  of  ivory  pieces ;  these  monotonous  sounds 
diversified  by  the  calls,  "  Soto"  this,  and  "  Caballo  " 
that,  with  now  and  theri  a  u  Carajo!"  or,  it  may  be, 
"  Just  rny  luck  !  "  from  the  lips  of  some  mortified  loser. 
But,  beyond  such  slight  ebullition,  ill  temper  does  not 
show  itself,  or,  at  all  events,  does  not  lead  to  any  alter- 
cation with  the  dealer.  That  would  be  dangerous,  as  all 
are  aware.  On  the  table,  close  to  his  right  elbow,  rests 
a  double-barrelled  pistol,  both  barrels  of  which  are 
loaded.  And  though  no  one  takes  particular  notice  of 
it,  any  more  than  if  it  were  a  pair  of  snuffers  on  their 
tray,  or  one  of  the  ordinary  implements  of  the  game, 
all  know  well  enough  that  he  who  keeps  this  standing 
symbol  of  menace  before  their  e}~es  is  prepared  to  use 
it  on  provocation. 

It  is  ten  o'clock,  and  the  bank  is  in  full  blast.  Up 
to  this  hour,  the  players,  in  one  thin  row  around  the 
tables,  were  staking  only  a  few  dollars  at  a  time,  a* 


164  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

skirmishers  in  advance  of  the  main  army,  firing  straj 
shots  from  pieces  of  light  calibre.  Now  the  heavj 
artillery  has  come  up,  the  ranks  have  filled,  and  the 
files  become  doubled  around  the  different  tables  ;  two 
rows  of  pla}*ers,  in  places  three,  engaging  in  the  game. 
And  instead  of  silver  dollars,  gold  eagles  and  doub- 
loons —  the  last  being  the  great  guns  —  are  flung  down 
upon  the  green  baize  with  a  rattle  continuous  as  the 
firing  of  musketry.     The  battle  of  the  night  has  begun. 

But  monte  and  faro  are  not  the  only  attractions  of 
the  El  Dorado.  The  shrine  of  Bacchus  —  its  drinking- 
bar  —  has  its  worshippers  as  well ;  a  score  of  them 
standing  in  front  of  it,  with  others  constantly  coming 
and  going.  Among  the  latest  arrivals  are  two  3'oung 
men  in  the  attire  of  navy  officers.  At  a  distance,  it  is 
not  easy  to  distinguish  the  naval  uniforms  of  nations, 
almost  universally  dark  blue,  with  gold  bands  and  but- 
tons ;  more  especia%  is  it  difficult  when  these  are  of 
the  two  cognate  branches  of  the  great  Anglo-Saxon 
race,  —  English  and  American.  While  still  upon  the 
street,  the  officers  in  question  might  have  been  taken 
for  either ;  but  once  within  the  saloon,  and  under  the 
light  of  its  numerous  lamps,  the  special  insignia  on  their 
caps  proclaim  them  as  belonging  to  a  British  man-of- 
war.  And  so  do  the}T,  since  they  are  Edward  Crozier 
and  Willie  Cadwallader. 

They  have  entered  without  anjT  definite  design,  fur- 
ther than,  as  Crozier  said,  to  "have  a  shot  at  the 
tiger.' '  Besides,  as  the}T  have  been  told,  a  night  in 
San  Francisco  would  not  be  complete  without  a  look  in 
at  El  Dorado. 

Soon  as  inside  the  saloon,  they  step  towards  its 
drinking-bar,  Crozier  saying,  "  Come,  Cad,  let's  do 
some  sparkling." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  165 

"  All  right,"  responds  the  descendant  of  the  Cymric 
ais  face  already  a  little  flushed  with  what  they  have  had 
at  the  Parker. 

"  Pint  bottle  of  champagne  !  "  calls  Crozier. 
;  We've  no  pints  here,"  saucily  responds  the  bar- 
keeper, a  gentleman  in  shirt-sleeves,  with  gold  buckles 
on  his  embroidered  braces,  too  grand  to  append  the 
courtesy  of  "sir."  "Nothing  less  than  quarts,"  he 
deigns  to  add. 

"A  quart  bottle,  then,"  cries  Crozier,  tossing  down 
a  doubloon  to  pa}r  for  it,  —  "  a  gallon,  if  you'll  only 
have  the  goodness  to  give  it  us." 

The  sight  of  the  gold  coin,  with  a  closer  inspection 
of  his  customers,  and  perhaps  some  dread  of  a  second 
sharp  rejoinder,  secures  the  attention  of  the  dignified 
Californian  Gairymede,  who,  relaxing  his  hauteur, 
condescends  to  serve  them. 

While  drinking  the  champagne,  the  j~oung  officers 
direct  their  eyes  towards  that  part  of  the  saloon  occu- 
pied by  the  gamesters.  They  see  several  clusters  of 
men  collected  around  tables,  some  sitting,  others  stand- 
ing. They  know  what  it  means,  and  that  there  is 
■monte  in  their  midst.  Though  Cadwallader  has  often 
heard  of  the  game,  he  has  never  played  it,  or  been  a 
spectator  to  its  play.  Crozier,  who  has  both  seen  and 
pla3'ed  it,  promises  to  initiate  him.  Tossing  off  their 
glasses,  and  receiving  the  change  (not  much  out  of  a 
doubloon),  they  approach  one  of  the  monte  tables, — 
that  in  the  centre  of  the  saloon,  around  which  there 
are  players,  standing  and  sitting,  three  deep.  It  is 
sonic  time  before  they  can  squeeze  through  the  two 
outside  concentric  rings,  and  get  within  betting  dis 
tance  of  the  table.  Those  already  around  it  are  not 
men  to  be  pushed  rudely  apart,  or  make  way  for  a 


166  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

couple  of  youngsters,  however  fine  their  appearance, 
or  impatient  their  manner.  In  the  circle  are  officers  of 
far  higher  rank  than  they,  though  belonging  to  a  dif 
ferent  service,  —  naval  captains  and  commanders,  and, 
of  army  men,  majors,  colonels,  even  generals.  What 
care  these  for  a  pair  of  boisterous  subalterns?  Or 
what  reck  the  rough  gold-diggers  and  stalwart  trappers 
seen  around  the  table  for  any  or  all  of  them  ?  It  is  a 
chain,  however  ill  assorted  in  its  links,  not  to  be  severed 
sans  ceremonie  ;  and  the  young  English  officers  must 
bide  their  time.  A  little  patience,  and  their  turn  will 
come  too. 

Practising  this,  they  wait  for  it  with  the  best  grace 
they  can,  and  not  very  long.  One  after  another,  the 
infatuated  gamesters  get  played  out ;  each,  as  he  sees 
his  last  dollar  swept  away  from  him  by  the  ruthless 
rake  of  the  croupier,  heaving  a  sigh,  and  retiring  from 
the  table  ;  most  of  them  with  seeming  reluctance,  and 
looking  back,  as  a  stripped  traveller  at  the  footpad  who 
has  turned  his  pockets  inside  out.  Soon  the  outer  ring 
is  broken,  leaving  spaces  between,  into  one  of  which 
slips  Crozier,  Cadwallader  pressing  in  alongside  of  him. 
Gradually  the}'  squeeze  nearer  and  nearer,  till  they  are 
ciose  to  the  table's  edge.  Having  at  length  attained  a 
position  where  they  can  conveniently  place  bets,  they 
ure  about  plunging  their  hands  into  their  pockets  for 
tlie  necessary  stakes,  when  all  at  once  the  act  is  inter- 
rupted. The  two  turn  towards  one  another  with  eyes, 
attitu  le,  every  thing,  expressing  not  only  surprise,  but 
stark,  speech-depriving  astonishment ;  for  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  table,  seated  in  a  grand  chair,  presiding 
over  the  game,  and  dealing  out  the  cards,  Crozier  sees 
the  man  who  has  been  making  love  to  Carmen  Montijo, 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  167 

—  his  rival  of  the  morning  ;  while  at  the  same  instant 
Cadwallader  has  caught  sight  of  his  rival,  —  the  suitor 
of  Iiiez  Alvarez. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

FIGHTING      THE      TIGER. 

AT  sight  of  De  Lara  and  Calderon,  the  young  offi- 
cers stand  speechless,  as  if  suddenly  struck 
dumb  ;  for  a  pang  has  shot  through  their  hearts,  bitter 
as  a  poisoned  shaft.  Crozier  feels  it  the  keenest,  since 
it  is  an  affair  that  most  concerns  him.  The  suitor  of 
Carmen  Montijo  a  "  sport,"  a  common  gambler  !  Fa- 
vored, or  not,  still  an  aspirant  to  her  hand  ;  though  it 
were  chagrin  enough  to  think  of  such  a  man  being  even 
on  terms  of  acquaintance  with  her.  Cadwallader  is  less 
affected,  though  he,  too,  feels  it.  For  although  Calde- 
ron is  in  the  circle  of  outside  players,  —  apparently  a 
simple  wagerer,  like  the  rest,  — the  companionship  of 
the  morning,  with  the  relations  existing  between  the 
two  men,  tell  of  their  being  socially  the  same.  He 
already  knows  his  rival  to  be  a  blackguard :  in  ail 
likelihood,  he  is  also  a  blackleg. 

Quick  as  thought  itself,  these  reflections  pass  through 
the  minds  of  the  English  officers ;  though  for  some 
time  neither  says  a  word,  their  looks  alone  communi- 
cating to  each  other  what  both  bitterVv  feel.  Fortu- 
nately, their  surprise  is  not  noticed  by  the  players 
around  the  table.  Each  is  engrossed  m  his  own  play, 
and  gives  but  a  glance  at  the  new-comers,  whose  navaJ 


168  THE   FLAG    OP   DISTEESS. 

uniforms  are  not  the  only  ones  there.  But  there  are 
two  who  take  note  of  them  in  a  more  particular  man- 
ner :  these,  Faustino  Calcleron  and  Francisco  de  Lara. 
Calderon,  looking  along  the  table.  — for  he  is  on  that 
same  side,  — regards  them  with  glances  furtive,  almost 
timid.  Very  different  is  the  manner  of  De  Lara.  At 
sight  of  Crozier,  he  suspends  the  deal,  his  face  suddenly 
turning  pale,  while  a  spark  of  angry  light  flashes  forth 
from  his  eyes.  The  passionate  display  is,  to  all  appear- 
ance, unobserved ;  or,  if  so,  it  is  attributed  to  some 
trifling  cause,  as  annoyance  at  the  game  going  against 
him.  It  is  almost  instantly  over ;  and  the  disturbed 
features  of  the  monte  dealer  resume  their  habitual 
expression  of  stern  placidity. 

The  young  officers,  having  recovered  from  their  first 
ohock  of  astonishment,  also  have  restored  to  them  the 
faculty  of  speech,  and  now  exchange  thoughts,  though 
not  about  that  which  so  disturbs  them.  By  a  sort  of 
tacit  understanding  it  is  left  to  another  time  ;  Crozier 
only  saying,  "  We'll  talk  of  it  when  we  get  aboard 
ship.  That's  the  place  for  sailors  to  take  counsel  to- 
gether, with  a  clear  head,  such  as  we  want.  At  this 
precious  minute  I  feel  like  a  fish  out  of  water." 

"By  Jove!  so  do  I." 

"The  thing  we're  both  thinking  of  has  raised  the 
devil  in  me.  But  let  us  not  bother  about  it  now.  I've 
got  something  else  in  nry  mind.  I'm  half  mad,  ana 
intend  fighting  the  tiger." 

"  Fighting  the  tiger  !  What  do  3'ou  mean  by  that, 
Ned?" 

"  You'll  soon  s^ee.  But,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  I'll 
give  you  a  little  preliminary  explanation.'" 

"  Yes,  do.     Perhaps  I, can  help  you." 

"  No,  you  can't.     There's  only  one  who  can." 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  169 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  It's  not  a  he,  but  a  she,  —  the  Goddess  of  Fortune. 
I  intend  soliciting  her  favors.  If  she  but  grant  them, 
I'll  smash  Mr.  De  Lara's  monte  bank." 

u  Impossible  !  There's  no  probability  of  }~our  being 
able  to  do  that." 

"Not  much  probability,  I  admit.  Still  there's  a 
possibility.  I've  seen  such  a  thing  done  before  now. 
Bold  play  and  big  luck  combined  will  do  it.  I'm  in 
for  the  first:  whether  I  have  the  last  remains  to  be 
seen.  In  any  case,  I'll  either  break  the  bank,  or 
lose  all  I've  got  on  me,  which,  b}~  chance,  is  a  pretty 
big  stake  to  begin  with.     So  here  goes  !  " 

Up  to  this  time,  their  conversation  has  been  carried 
on  in  a  low  tone  ;  no  one  hearing,  or  caring  to  listen 
to  it,  all  being  too  much  absorbed  in  their  own  calcu- 
lations to  take  heed  of  the  bets  o.r  combinations  of 
others.  If  any  one  gives  a  glance  at  them,  and  sees 
them  engaged  in  their  sotto-voce  dialogue,  it  is  but  to 
suppose  they  are  discussing  which  card  thety  had  best 
bet  upon, — whether  the  Soto  or  Caballo,  and  whether  it 
would  be  prudent  to  risk  a  whole  dollar,  or  limit  their 
lay  to  the  more  modest  sum  of  fift}^  cent0.  They  who 
may  have  been  thus  conjecturing,  with  everybody  else, 
are  taken  by  surprise,  in  fact  somewhat  startled,  when 
the  older  of  the  two  officers,  bending  acros*  tne  taole, 
tosses  n  hundred-pound  Bank-of-England  note  upon  the 
baize,  with  as  much  noncha1ance  as  if  it  wore  bat  a 
D  re-dollar  bill. 

"  Shall  I  give  you  checks  for  it?  "  asks  the  croupier 
after  examining  the  crisp  note,  —  current  ove^  all  the 
earth,  — and  knowing  it  good  as  gold. 

"  No,"  answers  Crozier,  "  not  yet.  You  can  give 
that  after  the  bet's  decided  —  if  I  win  it.     If  not,  yov 

15 


170  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

can  take  the  note.  I  place  it  on  the  Queen,  against 
the  Knave." 

The  croupier,  simply  nodding  assent,  places  the  note 
on  the  Queen. 

During  the  interregnum  in  which  this  little  incident 
occurs,  the  English  officers,  hitherto  scarce  noticed,  are 
broadly  stared  at,  and  closely  scrutinized,  Ciozier  be- 
coming the  C3*nosure  of  every  e}'e.  He  stands  it  with 
a  placid  tranquillity,  which  -ehows  him  as  careless 
about  what  the}7  ma}r  think  him  as  he  is  of  his  cash. 
Meanwhile,  the  cards  have  had  a  fresh  shuffle,  and  the 
deal  begins  anew ;  all  ej-es  again  turning  upon  the 
game  in  earnest  expectancy ;  those  who,  like  Crozier, 
have  placed  upon  the  Queen,  wishing  her  to  show  her 
face  first.     And  she  does. 

•LCaballo  en  la  jyuerta  mozo!  "  ("The  Queen  in  the 
door  wins  !  ")  cries  the  dealer,  the  words  drawled  out 
with  evident  reluctance  ;  while  a  flash  of  fierce  anger  is 
seen  scintillating  in  his  ej-es. 

' '  Will  3'ou  take  it  in  checks  ?  ' '  asks  the  croupier, 
addressing  himself  to  Crozier,  after  settling  the  smaller 
bets.     "  Or  shall  I  pay  you  in  specie?  " 

"You  needn't  pay  3-et.  Let  the  note  lie.  Only 
cover  it  with  a  like  amount.  I  go  it  double,  and  again 
upon  the  Queen." 

Stakes  are  relaid  ;  some  changed  ;  others  left  stand- 
ing or  doubled,  as  Crozier' s,  which  is  now  a  bet  for 
two  hundred  pounds.  On  goes  the  game,  the  pieces 
of  smooth  pasteboard  slipping  silently  from  the  jewelled 
lirgers  of  the  dealer,  whose  eye  is  bent  upon  the  cards, 
as  if  he  saw  through  them,  or  would  if  he  could. 
Whatever  his  wish,  he  has  no  power  to  change  the 
chances.  If  he  have  any  professional  tricks,  fhere  is 
vo  opportunity  for  him  to  practise  them.     There  are 


A   STOEY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  171 

too  many  e}-es  .ooking  on,  too  man}'  pistols  and  bowie- 
knives  around,  too  man}-  men  ready  to  stop  any  at- 
tempt at  cheating,  and  punish  it  if  attempted. 

A  gain  he  is  compelled  to  call  out,  ' '  Caballo  en  la 
pue'ta  mozo! '' 

'•  Now,  sir,"  says  the  croupier  to  Crozier,  after  set- 
tling other  scores,  uyou  want  your  money,  I  sup- 
pose ? ' ' 

"Not  yet.  I'm  not  pressed;  and  I  can  afford  to 
wait  a  little  longer.  I  again  go  double,  and  am  still 
contented  with  my  Queen." 

The  dealing  proceeds,  with  four  hundred  pounds 
iying  on  the  Caballo  to  Crozier' s  account,  and  ten 
times  as  much  belonging  to  other  betters ;  for,  now 
that  the  luck  seems  to  be  running  with  the  English 
officer,  most  lay  their  stakes  beside  his. 

Once  again,  "  Caballo  en  la  puerta  mozo!"  And 
again  Crozier  declines  to  take  up  his  bet. 

He  has  now  sixteen  hundred  pounds  sterling  upon 
the  card ;  while  the  others,  thoroughly  assured  that  his 
luck  is  on  the  run,  double  theirs,  till  the  bets  against 
the  bank  run  up  to  many  thousands. 

De  Lara  begins  to  look  anxious,  and  not  a  little 
down-hearted.  Still  more  anxious,  and  lower  in  heart, 
appears  one  seated  on  the  opposite  side,  —  Calderon  ; 
for  it  is  his  mone}^that  is  moving  away  from  him.  On 
the  contraiy,  Crozier  is  as  cool  as  ever,  his  features  set 
in  a  rigid  determination  to  do  what  he  promised,  — 
break  the  bank,  or  lose  all  he  has  got  about  him.  The 
last  not  liketyyet ;  for  soon  again  comes  the  cry,  "  The 
Queen  winner!" 

There  is  a  pause  longer  than  usual  for  the  settling 
of  such  a  large  score,  and  after  it  an  interval  of  in- 
action.    The  dealer  seems  inclined  to  discontinue ;  for 


172  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

still  lying  upon  the  Queen  is  Crozier's  stake,  once  mora 
doubled,  and  now  counting  three  thousand  two  hundred 
pounds.  Atked  if  he  intends  to  let  it  remain,  he 
replies  sneeringly,  "  Of  course  I  do :  I  insist  upon  it. 
And  once  more  I  go  for  the  Queen.  Let  those  who  like 
the  Knave  better,  back  him  !  ' ' 

"  Go  on,  go  on  !  "  is  the  cry  around  the  table,  from 
many  voices  speaking  in  tone  of  demand. 

De  Lara  glances  at  Calderon  furtively,  but,  to  those 
observing  it,  with  a  look  of  interrogation.  Whatever 
the  sign,  or  answer,  it  decides  him  to  go  on  dealing. 
The  bets  are  again  made  ;  to  his  disma}*,  almost  ever}-- 
body  laying  upon  the  Queen,  and,  as  before,  increasing 
their  stakes.  And  in  like  proportion  is  heightened  the 
interest  in  the  game.  It  is  too  intense  for  any  display 
of  noisy  excitement  now.  And  there  is  less  through- 
out the  saloon ;  for  many  from  the  other  tables,  as  all 
the  saunterers,  have  collected  around,  and,  standing 
several  deep,  gaze  over  one  another's  shoulders  with 
as  much  eager  earnestness  as  if  a  man  were  expiring 
in  their  midst. 

The  ominous  call  at  length  comes  ;  not  in  clear  voice, 
or  tone  exultant,  but  feeble,  and  as  if  wrung  reluctantly 
from  the  lips  of  the  monte  dealer ;  for  it  is  again  a 
verdict  adverse  to  the  bank:  "Caballo  en  la  puerta 
mozo  I  * ' 

As  De  Lira  utters  the  words,  he  dashes  the  cards 
iown,  scattering  them  all  over  the  table;  then,  rising 
excitedly  from  his  chair,  adds  in  faltering  tone,  "  Gen- 
tlemen, I'm  sorry  to  tell  you  —  {he  bank's  broke  1 " 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  173 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

A     PLUCKY     "SPORT." 

THE  bank's  broke. 
Three  words  that  have  oft,  too  oft,  startled  the 
ear,  and  made  woe  in  many  a  heart. 

At  hearing  them,  the  gamesters  of  the  El  Dorado, 
seated  around  the  month  table,  spring  to  their  feet,  as 
if  their  chairs  had  suddenh-  become  converted  into  iron 
at  a  white-heat.  They  rise  simultaneously,  as  though 
all  were  united  in  a  chain,  elbow  and  elbow  together. 
But,  while  thus  gesturing  alike,  very  different  is  the 
expression  upon  their  faces.  Some  simpry  show  sur- 
prise ;  others  look  incredulous ;  while  not  a  few  give 
evidence  of  anger.  For  an  instant  there  is  silence ; 
the  surprise,  the  incredulit}T,  the  anger,  having  sus- 
pended speech —  this  throughout  the  saloon;  for  all, 
bar-drinkers  as  well  as  gamesters,  have  caught  the  last 
three  words  spoken  by  De  Lara,  and  thoroughly  under- 
stand their  import.  No  longer  is  heard  the  chink  of 
ivory  checks,  or  the  metallic  ring  of  doubloons  and 
dollars ;  no  longer  the  thudding-down  of  decanters, 
nor  the  jingle  of  glasses.  Instead,  a  stillness  so  pro- 
found, that  one  entering  at  this  moment  might  fancy  it 
a  Quaker's  meeting,  but  for  the  S3^mbols  seen  around  ; 
these,  any  thing  but  Quakerish.  Easier  to  conceive  ii 
a  grand  gambling-hell  represented  in  wax- work. 

The  silence  is  of  the  shortest,  as  ulso  the  immo- 
bility of  the  figures  composing  1he  different  group,  — 


174  THE   FLAG   OE   DISTRESS. 

only  for  a  half-score  seconds ;  then  there  is  noise 
enough,  with  no  end  of  gesticulation.  A  roar  anses 
that  resounds  through  the  room  ;  while  men  rush  about 
wildly,  madly,  as  if  in  the  court-yard  of  a  lunatic  asy- 
lum. Some  show  anger,  —  those  who  are  losers  by  the 
break' ng  of  the  bank.  Many  have  won  large  bets ; 
the  stakes  still  lying  on  the  table,  which  the}*  know 
will  not  be  paid.  The  croupier  has  told  them  so,  con- 
fessing his  cash-box  cleared  out  at  the  last  settlement ; 
even  this  having  been  effected  with  the  now  useless 
ivory  checks. 

Some  gather  up  their  gold  or  silver,  and  stow  it  in 
safety,  growling,  but  satisfied  that  things  are  no 
worse.  Others  are  not  so  lenient.  They  do  not  be- 
lieve there  is  good  cause  for  the  suspension,  and  insist 
upon  being  paid  in  full.  They  rail  at  the  proprietor 
of  the  bank,  adding  menace.  De  Lara  is  the  man  thus 
marked.  They  see  him  before  them,  grandly  dressed, 
glittering  with  diamonds.  They  talk  of  stripping  him 
of  his  bijouterie. 

"No,  gentlemen!"  he  protests,  with  a  sardonic 
sneer;  "not  that,  if  you  please  —  not  yet.  First 
hear  me  ;  and  then  'twill  be  time  for  you  to  strike." 

"  What  have  3*011  to  sa#y?"  demands  one,  with  his 
fists  full  of  ivory  counters,  —  the  protested  checks. 

"  Only  that  I'm  not  the  owner  of  this  bank,  and 
never  have  been." 

"  Who  is,  then?  "  ask  several  at  the  same  time. 

"  Well,  that  I  can't  tell  3*011  just  now  ;  and,  wbg-'g 
more,  I  won't.     No,  that  I  won't !  " 

The  gambler  sa3*s  this  with  emphasis,  and  an  air  of 
sullen  determination,  that  has  its  effect  upon  his  ques 
tioners,   even  the  most  importunate.     For  a  time,  it 
eta}*s  their  talk,  as  well  as  acMon.     Seeing  this,  he 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  J  75 

follows  it  up  with  further  speech,  but  more  concilia- 
tory. "As  I've  said,  gentlemen,  I'm  not  the  owner 
of  this  concern,  only  the  dealer  of  the  cards.  You 
ask  who's  proprietor  of  the  smashed  table.  It's  nat- 
ural enough  you  should  want  to  know ;  but  it's  just 
as  natural,  that  it  ain't  nry  business  to  tell  you.  If  I 
did,  it  would  be  a  shabby  trick ;  and  I  take  it  }*ou're 
all  men  enough  t)  see  it  in  that  light.  If  there's  any 
who  isn't,  he  can  have  my  card,  and  call  upon  me  at 
his  convenience.  My  name's  Francisco  de  Lara,  or 
Frank  Lara,  if  3*011  like,  for  short.  I  can  be  found 
here,  or  am*where  else  in  San  Francisco,  at  such  time 
as  may  suit  anxious  inquirers.  And  if  any  wants  me 
now,  and  can't  wait,  I'm  good  this  minute  for  pistols 
acrors  the  table.  Yes,  gentlemen,  any  of  you  who'd 
like  a  little  amusement  of  that  kind,  let  him  come  on  ! 
It'll  be  a  change  from  the  monte.  For  my  part,  I'm 
tired  of  shuffling  cards,  and  would  like  to  rest  my 
lingers  on  a  trigger.  Which  of  3*011  feels  disposed  to 
give  me  the  chance?     Don't  all  speak  at  once  !  " 

No  one  feels  disposed,  and  no  one  speaks  ;  at  least 
in  hostile  tone,  or  to  take  up  the  challenge.  Instead, 
half  a  score  surround  the  "sport,"  and  not  only  ex- 
press their  admiration  of  his  pluck,  but  challenge  him 
to  an  encounter  of  drinks,  not  pistols.  Turning  to- 
wards the  bar,  the}*  Vociferate,  '-  Champagne  !  " 

Contented  with  the  turn  things  have  taken,  and 
proud  at  the  voile}*  of  invitations,  De  Lara  accepts ; 
a  ad  soon  the  vintage  of  France  is  seen  effervescing 
from  a  dozen  tall  glasses  ;  and  the  monte  dealer  stands 
drinking  in  the  midst  of  his  admirers.  Other  groups 
i.U aw  up  to  the  bar-counter;  while  twos  and  solitary 
tipplers  fill  the  spaces  between.  The  temple  of  For* 
tuna  is  for  a  time  deserted  ;  her  worshippers  t?  ansfnr- 


176  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

ring  their  devotion  to  the  shrine  of  Bacchus.  The 
losers  drink  to  drown  disappointment ;  while  the  win- 
ners quaff  cups  in  the  exhilaration  of  success.  If  a 
bad  night  for  the  bank,  it  is  a  good  one  for  the  bar. 
Decanters  are  quickly  emptied,  and  bottles  of  many 
kinds  go  "  down  among  the  dead  men." 

The  excitement  in  the  saloon  is  soon  over.  '  Occur- 
rences of  like  kind  —  often  of  more  tragical  termina- 
tion—  are  too  common  in  California  to  cause  an}T  long- 
sustained  interest.  Within  the  hour  will  arise  some 
new  event,  equally  stirring,  leaving  the  old  to  live  only 
in  the  recollection  of  those  who  have  been  active  par- 
ticipants in  it.  So  with  the  breaking  of  Frank  Lara's 
bank.  A  stranger  entering  the  saloon  an  hour  after, 
from  what  he  there  sees,  cannot  tell  that  an  incident 
of  so  serious  nature  has  occurred ;  for  in  less  than  this 
time  the  same  month  table  is  again  surrounded  by 
gamesters,  as  if  its  play  had  never  been  suspended. 
The  only  difference  observable  is,  that  quite  another 
individual  presides  over  it,  dealing  out  the  cards  ;  while 
a  new  croupier  has  replaced  him  whose  cash  receipts  so 
suddenly  ran  short  of  his  needed  disbursements.  The 
explanation  is  simply,  that  there  has  been  a  change  of 
owners;  another  celebrated  "sport"  taking  up  the 
abandoned  bank,  and  opening  it  anew.  With  a  few 
exceptions,  the  customers  are  the  same  ;  their  number 
not  sensibly  diminished.  Most  of  the  old  players  have 
returned  to  it ;  while  the  places  of  those  who  have 
defected,  and  gone  off  to  other  gambling-resorts,  are 
tilled  by  fresh  arrivals.  A  small  number,  who  think 
they  have  had  play  enough  for  that  night,  have  left  the 
El  Dorado  Tor  good.  Among  these  are  the  English 
officers,  whose  visit  proved  so  prejudicial  to  the  inter- 
ests of  the  place.     De  Lara  too,  and  Calderon.  witt 


A  STORY  OF  THE;  SOUTR    SE4.  177 

ather  confederates,  have  forsaken  the  saloor*.  But 
whither  gone  no  one  knows,  or  seems  to  care ;  for  the 
fortunes  of  a  fallen  man  soon  cease  to  interest  men 
who  are  themselves  madly  struggling  to  mount  up 


CHAPTER    XXni. 

A     SUPPER     CARTE-BLANCHE. 

ON  parting  from  the  El  Dorado,  Crozier  and  Cad- 
wallader  do  not  go  directly  aboard  the  "  Cru- 
sader." They  know  that  their  boat  will  be  awaiting 
them  at  the  place  appointed ;  but  the  appointment  is 
for  a  later  hour :  and  as  the  breaking  of  the  monte 
bank,  with  the  incidents  attendant,  occupied  but  a 
short  half-hour,  there  will  be  time  for  them  to  see  a 
little  more  of  San  Franciscan  life,  —  perhaps  the  last 
chance  they  may  have  during  their  stay  in  the  port. 
They  have  fallen  in  with  several  other  young  officers^ 
naval  like  themselves,  though  not  of  their  own  ship, 
nor  3'et  their  own  navy  or  nation,  but  belonging  to 
one  cognate  and  kindred,  —  Americans.  Through  the 
freemasomy  of  their  common  profession,  with  these 
they  have  fraternized ;  and  it  is  agreed  they  shall  all 
sup  together.  Crozier  has  invited  the  Americans  to  a 
repast  the  most  recherche,  as  it  is  the  costliest,  that  can 
be  obtained  at  the  grandest  hotel  in  San  Francisco, 
the  Parker  House.  He  adds,  humorously,  that  he  is 
able  to  stand  the  treat.  And  well  he  may  ;  since,  be- 
sides the  English  money  with  which  he  entered  the  El 
Dorado,  he  has  brought  thousands  of  dollars  out  of  it. 


178  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

which  would  have  been  more,  had  all  the  ivory  checks 
been  honored.  As  it  is,  his  pockets  are  filled  with 
notes  and  gold,  as  also  those  of  Cadwallader,  who  helps 
him  to  carry  the  coin.  Part  of  the  heavy  metal  he 
has  been  able  to  change  into  the  more  portable  form 
of  bank-notes.  Yet  the  two  are  still  heavily  weighted, 
"  laden  like  hucksters'  donkeys,  "  jokingly  remarks 
Cadwallader,  as  they  proceed  towards  the  Parker. 

A  private  room  is  engaged  ;  and,  according  to  piom- 
ise,  Crozier  bespeaks  a  repast  of  the  most  sumptuous 
kind,  with  carte-blanche  for  the  best  wines,  —  champagne 
at  three  guineas  a  bottle,  hock  the  same,  and  South- 
side  Madeira  still  more.  What  difference  to  him?  The 
supper,  ordered  in  the  double-quick,  soon  makes  its 
appearance,  —  sooner  in  San  Francisco  than  in  airy 
other  city  of  the  world,  in  better  style  too,  and  better 
worth  the  money ;  for  the  Golden  City  excels  in  the 
science  of  gastronomy.  Even  then,  amidst  her  canvas 
sheds  and  weather-boarded  houses,  could  be  obtained 
dishes  of  every  kind  known  to  Christendom  or  Pagan- 
dom,—  the  cuisine  of  France,  Spain,  and  Italy ;  the 
roast  beef  of  Old  England,  as  the  pork  and  beans  of 
the  New ;  the  gumbo  of  Guinea,  and  sauerkraut  of 
Germany,  side  by  side  with  the  swallow 's-nest  soup 
anc\  the  sea-slugs  of  China.  Had  Lucullus  but  lived 
in  these  days,  he  would  have  forsaken  the  banks  of 
the  Tiber,  and  made  California  his  home. 

The  repast  furnished  by  the  Parker  House,  however 
splendid,  has  to  be  speedily  despatched  ;  for,  unfortu- 
nately, time  forbids  the  leisurely  enjo^yment  of  the 
viands,  to  a  certain  extent  marring  the  pleasure  of  the 
occasion.  All  the  officers,  American  as  English,  have 
to  be  on  their  respective  ships  at  the  stroke  of  twelve. 
Reluctantly  breaking  up  their  hilarious  company,  they 


A   STORY   OF   THE    SOUTH   SEA  I  i  V 

prepare  to  depart.  The}'  have  forsaken  the  supper 
room,  and  passed  on  to  the  outer  saloon  of  the  hotel, 
like  all  such,  furnished  with  a  drinking-bar.  Before 
separating,  and  while  buttoning  up  against  the  chill 
night-air,  Crozier  calls  out,  "Come,  gentlemen,  one 
more  glass  !     The  stirrup-cup  !  " 

In  San  Francisco  this  is  always  the  wind-up  to  a 
night  of  revelry.  No  matter  how  much  wine  has  been 
quaffed,  the  carousal  is  not  deemed  complete  without 
a  last  "  statutory  "  drink,  taken  standing  at  the  bar. 
Giving  way  to  the  Californian  custom,  the  officers  range 
themselves  along  the  marble  slab,  bending  over  which, 
the  polite  bar-keeper  asks,  "  What  is  it  to  be,  gentle- 
men?" 

There  is  a  moment  of  hesitation :  the  gentlemen  — 
already  well  wined  —  scarce  know  what  to  6all  for. 
Crozier  cuts  the  Gordian  knot  by  proposing,  "  A  round 
of  punches  a  la  Romaine!  " 

Universal  assent  to  this  delectable  drink ;  as  all 
know,  just  the  thing  for  a  nightcap.  Soon  the  cooling 
beverage,  compounded  with  snow  from  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada, appears  upon  the  counter,  in  huge  glasses,  piled 
high  with  the  sparkling  crystals,  a  spoon  surmount- 
ing each  ;  for  punch  a  la  Romaine  is  not  to  be  drunk, 
but  eaten.  Shovelling  it  down  in  haste,  adieus  are 
exchanged  by  a  hearty  shaking  of  hands,  when  the 
American  officers  go  off,  leaving  Crozier  and  Cad  walla- 
der  in  the  saloon.     These  only  sta}-  to  settle  the  account. 

While  standing  by  the  bar,  waiting  for  it  to  be 
brought,  they  cast  a  glance  around  the  room.  At  first 
careless,  i';  soon  becomes  concentrated  on  a  group  seen 
at  some  distance  off,  near  one  of  the  doors  leading  out, 
of  which  there  are  several.  There  are  also  several 
other  groups ;  for  the  saloon  is  of  large  dimensions. 


180  THE   FlAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

besides  being  the  most  popular  place  of  resort  in  San 
Francisco.  And  ibr  San  Francisco  the  hour  is  not  yet 
late.  Along  the  line  of  the  drinking-bar,  and  over  the 
white  sanded  floor,  are  some  scores  of  people,  of  all 
qualities  and  kinds,  in  almost  every  variety  of  costume. 
They  who  compose  the  party  that  has  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  English  officers  show  nothing  particu- 
lar ;  that  is,  to  the  e}Te  of  one  unacquainted  with 
them.  There  are  four  of  them ;  two  wearing  broad- 
cloth cloaks,  the  other  two  having  their  shoulders 
shrouded  under  serapes.  Nothing  in  all  that.  The 
night  is  cold,  indeed  wet ;  and  they  are  close  to  the 
door,  to  all  appearance  intending  soon  to  step  out. 
They  have  only  paused  to  exchange  a  parting  word,  as 
if  the}-  designed  to  separate  before  issuing  into  the 
street. 

Though  the  spot  where  the}-  stand  is  in  shadow,  a 
folding  screen  separating  it  from  the  rest  of  the  saloon, 
and  it  is  not  eas}r  to  get  sight  of  their  faces,  —  the 
difficulty  increased  b}-  broad-brimmed  hats  set  slouch- 
ingty  on  their  heads,  with  their  cloaks  and  serapes 
drawn  up  around  their  throats,  — Crozier  and  Cadwalla- 
der  have  not  only  seen,  but  recognized  them.  A  glance 
at  their  countenances,  caught  before  the  muffling  was 
made,  enabled  the  }Toung  officers  to  identify  three  of 
them  as  De  Lara,  Calderon,  and  the  ci-devant  croupier 
of  the  monte  bank.  The  fourth,  whose  face  they  have 
also  seen,  is  a  personage  not  known  to  them,  but 
judging  by  his  features,  a  suitable  associate  for  the 
other  three.  Soon  as  catching  sight  of  them,  which  he 
is  the  first  to  do,  Crozier  whispers  to  his  companion, 
u  See,  Will !  Look  yonder  !  Our  frier  ds  from  the  El 
Dorado!  " 

"  By  Jove !  them,  sure  enough.  Do  jou  third* 
they're  following  us?  " 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  181 

-*  I  shouldn't  wonder.  1  was  only  surprised  they 
didn't  do  something  when  they  had  us  in  their  gam- 
bling den.  After  the  hea^y  draw  I  made  on  Mr.  Lara's 
bank,  I  expected  no  less  than  that  he'd  try  to  renew 
his  acquaintance  with  me,  all  the  more  from  his  hav 
ing  been  so  free  of  it  in  the  morning.  Instead,  he  and 
his  friend  seem  to  have  studiously  avoided  corning  near 
us,  not  even  casting  a  look  in  our  direction.  That 
rather  puzzles  me." 

"  It  needn't.  After  what  }*ou  gave  him,  I  should 
think  he'd  feel  shy  of  another  encounter." 

"  No  :  that's  not  it.  Blackleg  though  the  fellow  be, 
he's  got  game  in  him.  He  gave  proof  of  it  in  the  El 
Dorado,  defying  and  backing  eveiybody  out.  It  was 
an  exhibition  of  real  courage,  Will ;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  couldn't  help  admiring  it  —  can't  now.  "When 
1  saw  him  presiding  over  a  gambling-table,  and  dealing 
out  the  cards,  I  at  once  made  up  my  mind  that  it  would 
never  do  to  meet  him,  even  if  he  challenged  me. 
Now  I've  decided  differently  ;  and,  if  he  call  me  out, 
I'll  give  him  a  chance  to  recover  a  little  of  his  lost 
reputation.     I  will,  upon  my  honor  !  " 

"But  wiry  should  3~ou?  A  'sport,'  a  professional 
gambler !     The  thing  would  be  simply  ridiculous." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  —  not  here  in  California.  On 
the  contrary,  I  should  cut  a  more  ridiculous  figure  by 
refusing  him  satisfaction.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  he'll  seek  it  according  to  the  correct  code." 

"That  he  won't:  at  least,  I  don't  think  he  will. 
From  the  way  the  four  have  got  their  heads  together, 
it  looks  as  if  they  meant  mischief  now.  They  may 
have  been  watching  their  opportunity^  —  to  get  us  two 
alone.  What  a  pity  we  didn't  see  them  before  our 
friends  went  off!  Thej^'re  good  fellows,  those  Yanket 
ollicers,  and  would  have  stood  by  us."  16 


.182  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"  No  doubt  they  would.  But  it's  too  late  now 
They're be^yond  hailing-distance  ;  and  we  must  take  care 
of  ourselves.  Get  your  dirk  ready,  Will,  and  have 
your  hand  close  to  the  butt  of  one  of  Mr.  De  Lara's 
shooting-irons." 

"  I  have  it  that  way.  Never  fear.  Wouldn't  it  be 
a  good  joke  if  I  have  to  give  the  fellow  a  pill  out  ff 
one  of  his  own  pistols  ? ' ' 

"  No  joking  matter  to  us,  if  they're  meditating  an 
attack.  Though  we  disarmed  him  in  the  morning,  he'll 
be  freshly  provided,  and  with  weapons  in  plcnt}T.  I'll 
warrant  each  of  the  four  has  a  battery  concealed  under 
his  cloak.  They  appear  as  if  they're  concocting  some 
scheme,  which  we'll  soon  know  all  about  —  likely-  be- 
fore leaving  the  room.  Certainly  they're  up  to  some- 
thing." 

"Four  hundred  and 'ninety  dollars,  gentlemen!" 
The  financial  statement  is  made  by  the  bar-keeper,  pre- 
senting the  bill. 

"  There  !  "  cries  Crozier,  flinging  down  a  five-hun- 
dred-dollar-bill. "  Let  that  settle  it.  You  can  keep 
the  change  for  yourself." 

"  Thank  ye,"  dryly  responds  the  Californian  dispens- 
er of  drinks,  taking  the  ten-dollar- tip  with  less  show 
of  gratitude  than  a  London  waiter  would  give  for  a 
fourpenny-piece  —  little  as  that  may  be. 

Turning  to  take  departure,  the  young  officers  again 
look  across  the  saloon,  to  learn  how  the  hostile  party 
has  disposed  itself.  To  their  surprise,  the  gamblers 
are  gone,  having  disappeared  while  the  account  waa 
Deing  receipted. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it,"  says  Crozier  in  a 
whisper;  "less  now  than  ever.  No  doubb  we'll  find 
them  outside.     Well,  we  can't  stay  here  all  night.     If 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  183 

they  attack  us,  we  must  do  our  best.  Take  a  firmgrrji 
of  your  pistol,  with  your  finger  close  to  the  trigger, 
and,  if  airy  of  them  shows  sign  of  shooting,  see  that 
you  fire  first.     Follow  me,  and  keep  close  !  " 

On  the  instant  of  delivering  these  injunctions,  Cro- 
zier  starts  towards  the  door,  his  companion  following, 
as  directed.  Both  salty  out,  and  for  a  while  stand  gaz- 
ing around  them.  People  they  see  in  numbers,  seme 
Jounging  by  the  hotel  porch,  others  passing  along  the 
street,  but  none  in  cloaks  or  serapes.  The  gamblers 
must  have  gone  clear  awa}'. 

"  After  all,  we  may  have  been  wronging  them," 
remarks  Crozier,  as,  in  his  nature,  giving  wa}'to  a  gen- 
erous impulse.  i '  I  can  hardly  think  that  a  fellow  who's 
shown  such  courage  would  play  the  assassin.  Maybe 
they  were  but  putting;  their  heads  together  about  chal- 
lenging us?  If  that's  it,  we  may  expect  to  hear  from 
them  in  the  morning.  It  looks  all  right.  An3rhow,  we 
can't  stay  dallying  here.  If  we're  not  aboard  by  eight 
bells,  old  Bracebridge'll  masthead  us.  Let's  heave 
along,  my  hearty!  " 

So  saying,  the  senior  officer  leads  off,  Cadwallader 
close  on  his  quarter,  both  a  little  unsteady  in  their 
eteps,  partly  from  being  loaded  with  the  spoils  of  El 
Dorado,  and  partly  from  the  effects  of  the  Parker  House 
wines,  and  pnnches  n  la  Bomaine. 


184  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HARRY     BLEW     HOMELESS. 

WHILE  1;he  exciting  scene  described  as  taking 
place  in  the  El  Dorado  was  at  its  height, 
Harry  Blew  went  past  the  door.  Could  the  sailor  have 
seen  through  walls,  he  would  have  entered  the  saloon. 
The  sight  of  his  former  officers  would  have  attracted 
him  inside,  there  to  remain,  for  more  reasons  than 
one.  Of  one  he  had  already  thought.  Conjecturing 
that  the  young  gentleman  might  be  going  on  a  bit  of 
a  spree,  and  knowing  the  dangers  of  such  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  accompany,  or  keep 
close  after  them,  in  order  that  he  might  be  at  hand, 
should  they  come  into  collision  with  an}'  of  the  roughs 
and  rowdies  thick  upon  the  street.  Unfortunately  this 
idea,  like  that  of  asking  them  for  a  cash  loan,  had 
come  too  late  ;  and  they  were  out  of  sight  ere  he  could 
take  airy  steps  towards  its  execution.  A  glance  into 
the  gambling-saloon  would  have  brought  both  opportu- 
nities back  again ;  and,  instead  of  continuing  to  wan- 
der hungry  through  the  streets,  the  sailor  would  have 
had  a  splendid  supper,  and  after  it  a  bed,  either  in 
some  respectable  hostelry,  or  his  old  bunk  aboard  the 
"  Crusader."  It  was  not  to  be.  While  passing  the 
El  Dorado,  he  could  know  nothing  of  the  friends  that 
were  so  near ;  and,  thus  unconscious,  he  leaves  the 
glittering  saloon  behind,  and  a  half-score  others  lighted 
with  like  brilliancy.     For  a  while  longer,  he  saunters 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  185 

Blowly  about,  in  the  hope  of  yet  encountering  the 
officers.  Several  times  he  sees  men  in  uniform,  and 
makes  after  them,  only  to  find  they  are  not  English. 
At  length,  giving  it  up,  he  quickens  his  pace,  and 
strikes  for  the  office  of  the  ship-agent,  which  he  knows 
to  be  in  the  street  fronting  the  water.  As  San  Fran- 
cisco is  not  like  an  old  seaport,  where  house-room  is 
cheap  and  abundant,  but  every  foot  of  roof-shelter 
utilized  by  night  as  by  day,  there  is  a  chance  the  office 
may  still  be  open.  In  all  probability  the  agent  sleeps 
by  the  side  of  his  ledger,  or,  if  not,  likely  enough  one 
of  his  clerks ;  in  which  case  he,  Harry  Blew,  ma}T  be 
allowed  to  lie  along  the  floor,  or  get  a  shake-down  in 
some  adjoining  shed.  He  would  be  but  too  glad  to 
stretch  himself  on  an  old  sack,  a  naked  bench,  or,  for 
that  matter,  sit  upright  in  a  chair  ;  for  he  is  now  fairly 
fagged  out  perambulating  the  unpaved  streets  of  that 
inhospitable  port. 

Tacking  from  corner  to  corner,  now  and  then  hitch- 
ing up  his  trousers  to  give  freer  play  to  his  feet,  he  at 
length  comes  out  upon  the  street  which  fronts  towards 
the  bay.  In  his  week's  cruising  about  the  town,  he 
has  acquired  some  knowledge  of  its  topography,  and 
knows  well  enough  where  he  is,  but  not  the  office  of 
the  shipping-agent.  It  takes  him  a  considerable  time 
to  find  it.  Along  the  water's  edge  the  houses  are  ir- 
regularly placed,  and  numbered  with  like  irregularity. 
Besides,  there  is  scarce  any  light.  The  night  has  be- 
come dark,  with  a  sky  densely  clouded ;  and  the  street- 
lamps,  burning  whale-oil,  are  dim,  and  at  long  distances 
apart.  It  is  with  difficulty  he  can  make  out  the  figures 
upon  the  doors.  However,  he  is  at  length  successful, 
and  deciphers  on  one  the  number  he  is  in  search  of,  as 
also  the  name  "Silvestre"  painted  on  a  piece  of  tin 
attached  to  the  side-post.  ]6* 


186  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

A  survey  of  the  house,  indeed,  a  single  glance  at 
it,  convinces  him  he  has  come  thither  to  no  purpose. 
It  is  a  small  wooden  structure,  not  much  bigger  than  a 
sentry-box,  evidently  only  an  office,  with  no  capability 
of  conversion  to  a  bedroom.  Still  it  has  room  enough 
to  admit  of  a  man's  lying  at  full-length  along  its  flcor ; 
and,  as  already  said,  he  would  be  glad  of  so  disposing 
himself  for  the  night.  There  may  be  some  one  inside, 
though  the  one  window,  in  size  corresponding  to  the 
shanty  itself,  looks  black  and  forbidding.  With  no 
very  sanguine  hope,  he  lays  hold  of  the  door-handle, 
and  gives  it  a  twist.  Locked,  as  he  might  have  ex- 
pected !  The  test  does  not  satisfy  him,  and  he  knocks, 
at  "first  timidly,  then  a  little  bolder  and  louder  ;  finally 
giving  a  good  round  rap  with  his  knuckles,  hard  as 
horn.     At  the  same  time  he  hails,  sailor-fashion,  — 

"  Ahoy,  there  !  Be  there  any  one  within?"  This  in 
English ;  but,  remembering  that  the  ship-agent  is  a 
Spaniard,  he  follows  his  first  hail  with  another  in  the 
Spanish  tongue,  adding  the  usual  formulary, — 

"  Ambrela  puerta!"  Neither  to  the  question  nor 
the  demand  is  there  any  response ;  only  the  echo  of 
his  own  voice  reverberated  along  the  line  of  houses, 
and  dying  away  in  the  distance,  as  it  mingles  with  the 
sough  of  the  sea.  No  use  speaking  or  knocking  again. 
Undoubtedly  Silvestre's  office  is  closed  for  the  night ; 
and  his  clerks,  if  there  be  any,  have  their  sleeping- 
quarters  elsewhere.  Forced  to  this  conclusion,  though 
sadly  dissatisfied  with  it,  the  ex-man-o'-war  s-mau 
turns  away  from  the  door,  and  once  more  goes  cruising 
along  the  streets.  But  now,  with  no  definite  point  to 
steer  for,  he  makes  short  tacks  and  turns,  like  a  ship 
sailing  under  an  unfavorable  wind,  or  as  one  disregard- 
ing the  guidance  of  the  compass,  without  steersman  at 
&e  wheel. 


A.  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  187 

After  beating  about  for  nearly  another  hour,  he  dis- 
covers himself  again  contiguous  to  the  water's  edge. 
His  instincts  have  conducted  him  thither,  as  the  seal, 
after  a  short  inland  excursion,  finds  its  vrtiy  back  to 
the  beach.  Ah,  if  he  could  only  swim  like  a  seal ! 
This  thought  occurs  to  him  as  he  stands  looking  over 
the  sea  in  the  direction  of  the  ''  Crusader."  Were  it 
possible  to  reach  the  frigate,  all  his  troubles  would  soon 
be  forgotten  in  the  cheerful  companionship  of  his  old 
chums  of  the  forecastle.  It  can't  be.  The  man-of-war 
is  anchored  more  than  two  miles  off.  Strong  swimmer 
though  he  knows  himself  to  be,  it  is  too  far.  Besides, 
a  fog  has  suddenly  sprung  up,  overspreading  the  bay ; 
so  that  the  ship  is  hidden  from  his  sight.  Even  those 
lying  close  inshore  can  be  but  faintly  discerned  through 
its  film,  and  only  the  larger  spars ;  the  smaller  ones, 
with  the  rigging-ropes,  looking  like  the  threads  of  a 
spider's  web. 

Down-hearted,  almost  despairing,  Harry  Blew  halts 
upon  the  beach.  What  is  he  to  do  ?  Lie  down  on  the 
sand,  and  there  go  to  sleep  ?  There  are  times,  when, 
on  the  shores  of  San  Francisco  Bay,  this  would  not  be 
much  of  a  hardship ;  but  now  it  is  the  season  of 
winter,  when  the  great  Pacific  current,  coming  from 
latitudes  farther  north,  rolls  in  through  the  Golden 
Gate,  bringing  with  it  fogs  that  spread  themselves  over 
the  estuary  inside.  Although  not  frosty,  these  are 
cold  enough  to  be  uncomfortable  ;  and  the  haze  now  is 
accompanied  by  a  chill,  drizzling  rain.  Standing  under 
it,  Harry  Blew  feels  he  is  fast  getting  wet.  If  he  do 
not  obtain  shelter,  he  will  soon  be  soaked  to  the  skin. 
Looking  around,  his  e^e  rests  upon  a  boat  which  lies 
bottom  upward  on  the  beach.  It  is  an  old  ship's 
launch  that  has  bilged,  and  either  been  abandoned  a& 


188  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

useless,  or  upturned  to  receive  repairs.  No  matter 
what  its  history,  it  offers  him  the  hospitality  so  scurvily 
refused  by  the  Sailor's  Home.  If  it  cannot  give  him 
supper  or  bed,  it  will  be  some  protection  against  th? 
rain,  that  has  now  commenced  coming  down  in  big 
clouting  drops.  This  deciding  him,  he  creeps  under 
the  capsized  launch,  and  lays  himself  at  full-length 
along  the  shingle. 

The  spot  upon  which  he  has  stretched  himself  is  soft 
as  a  feather-bed.  Still  he  does  not  fall  asleep.  The 
rain,  filtering  through  the  sand,  soon  finds  its  way 
under  the  boat,  and,  saturating  his  couch,  makes  it 
uncomfortable.  This,  with  the  cold  night-air,  keeps 
him  awake.  He  lies  listening  to  the  sough  of  the  sea, 
and  the  big  drops  pattering  upon  the  planks  above. 
Not  long  before  other  sounds  salute  his  ear,  distin- 
guishable as  human  voices,  —  men  engaged  in  conver- 
sation. As  he  continues  to  listen,  the  voices  grow 
louder,  those  who  converse  evidently  drawing  nearer. 
In  a  few  seconds  they  are  by  the  boat's  side,  where 
they  come  to  a  stand.  But,  though  they  have  paused 
in  their  steps,  they  continue  to  talk  in  an  excited,  ear- 
nest tone,  so  loud  that  he  can  hear  every  word  they 
say,  though  the  speakers  are  invisible  to  him.  The 
capsized  boat  is  not  so  flush  with  the  sand  as  to  pre 
vent  him  from  seeing  the  lower  part  of  their  legs,  from 
belc  vv  the  knees  downward.  Of  these  there  are  four 
pairs,  two  of  them  in  trousers  of  the  ordinary  kind,  the 
other  two  in  calzoneras  of  velveteen  bordered  at  the 
bottom  with  black  stamped  leather.  But  that  all  four 
men  are  Californians  or  Spaniards,  he  can  tell  by  the 
language  in  which  they  are  conversing,  —  Spanish.  A 
lucky  chance  that  he  understands  something  of  this,  if 
not  for  himself,  for  the  friends  who  are  dear  to  him. 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  189 

The  first  intelligible  speech  that  reaches  his  ear  is  an 
i  nterrogatory , 

"  You're  sure,  Calderon,  they'll  come  this  way?" 

"  Quite  sure,  De  Lara.  When  I  stood  by  them  at 
the  hotel-bar,  I  heard  the  younger  of  the  two  tell  one 
of  the  American  officers  that  their  boat  was  to  meet 
ihera  at  the  wooden  muello,  the  new  pier,  as  3*011  know 
To  reach  that,  the}'  must  pass  by  here :  there's  no 
other  way.  And  it  can't  be  long  before  they  make 
appearance.  They  were  leaving  the  hotel  at  the  time 
we  did ;  and  where  else  should  the}'  go  ?  " 

"  No  knowing  "  —  this  from  the  voice  of  a  third  in- 
dividual. "  They  may  stay  to  take  another  copita,  or 
half  a  dozen.  These  Ingleses  can  drink  like  fish,  and 
don't  seem  to  feel  it." 

--  The  more  they  drink,  the  better  for  us,"  remarks 
a  fourth.     "  Our  work  will  be  the  easier." 

"  It  may  not  be  so  easy,  Don  Manuel,"  puts  in  De 
Lara.  "Young  as  the}'  are,  they're  very  devils  both. 
Besides,  they're  well  armed,  and  will  battle  like  grizzly 
bears.  I  tell  you,  camaraclos,  we'll  have  work  to  do 
before  we  get  back  our  money." 

-•But  do  you  intend  killing  them,  De  Lara?"  asks 
Calderon. 

"  Of  course  !  We  mast,  for  our  own  sakes.  'Twould 
be  madness  not,  even  if  we  could  get  the  money  with- 
out it.  The  older,  Crozier,  is  enormously  rich,  I've 
heard ;  could  afford  to  buy  up  all  the  law  there  is  in 
San  Francisco.  If  we  let  them  escape,  he'd  have  the 
police  after  us  like  hounds  upon  a  trail.  Even  if  they 
shouldn't  recognize  us  now,  they'd  be  sure  to  suspect 
who  it  was,  and  make  the  place  too  hot  to  hold  us, 
Caspita!  It's  not  a  question  of  choice,  but  a  tiling  of 
uecessity.      We  must  kill  t7iem,  I ' ' 


190  THE  FLAG  OF   DISTRESS. 

Harry  Blew  hears  the  cold-blooded  determination, 
comprehending  it  in  all  its  terrible  significance.  It 
tells  him  the  young  officers  are  still  in  the  town,  and 
that  these  four  men  are  about  to  wa}Tlay,  rob,  and 
murder  them.  What  they  mean  by  "  getting  back  the 
mone}r "  is  the  only  thing  he  does  not  comprehend.  It 
is  made  clear  as  the  conversation  continues. 

"  I'm  sure  there's  nothing  unfair  in  taking  lack  our 
own.  I,  Frank  Lara,  say  so.  It  was  the}7  who  brought 
about  the  breaking  of  our  bank,  which  was  done  in  a 
mean,  dastardty  wa3T.  The  Englishman  had  the  luck  ; 
and  all  the  others  of  his  kind  went  with  him.  But  for 
that,  we  could  have  held  out.  It's  no  use  our  whining 
about  it.  We've  lost,  and  must  make  good  our  losses 
best  way  we  can.  We  can't,  and  be  safe  ourselves,  if 
we  let  these  gringos  go." 

"  Chingara!  we'll  stop  their  breath,  and  let  there  be 
no  more  words  about  it." 

The  merciless  verdict  is  in  the  voice  of  Don  Manuel. 

"  You're  all  agreed,  then?"  asks  De  Lara. 

" /S7,  si,  si!  is  the  simultaneous  answer  of  assent, 
Calderon  alone  seeming  to  give  it  with  some  reluc- 
tance ;  though  he  hesitates  from  timidity,  not  merc}T. 

Harry  Blew  now  knows  all.  The  officers  have  been 
gaming,  have  won  mone}T ;  and  the  four  fellows  who 
talk  so  coolly  of  killing  them  are  the  banker  and  hia 
confederates.  What  is  he  to  do  ?  How  can  he  sava 
the  doomed  men.  Both  are  armed.  Crozier  has  hi8 
swoiA  ;  Cadwallader,  his  dirk.  Besides,  they  have  pis- 
tols, as  he  saw  while  they  were  talking  to  him  at  the 
Sailor's  Home.  But  then  they  are  to  be  taken  un- 
awares, —  shot  or  struck  down  in  the  dark,  without  a 
chance  of  seeing  the  hand  that  strikes  them  !  Even  if 
warned  and  read}',  it  would  be  two  against  four :  and 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  191 

he  is  himself  altogether  unarmed ;  for  his  jack-knife  is 
gone  —  hypothecated  to  pay  for  his  last  jorum  of  grog. 
And  the  young  officers  have  been  drinking  freely,  as  he 
gathers  from  what  the  ruffians  have  said.  They  may 
be  inebriated,  or  enough  so  to  put  them  off  their  guard. 
Who  would  be  expecting  assassination?  Who  ever  is, 
save  a  Mexican  himself?  Altogether  unlikely  that  they 
should  be  thinking  of  such  a  thing.  On  the  contrary, 
disregarding  danger,  they  will  come  carelessly  on,  to 
fall  like  ripe  corn  before  the  sickle  of  the  reaper.  The 
thought  of  such  a  fate  for  his  friends  fills  the  sailor 
with  apprehension,  and  again  he  asks  himself  how  it 
is  to  be  averted. 

The  four  conspirators  are  not  more  than  as  many 
feet  from  the  boat.  By  stretching  out  his  hands,  he 
could  grip  them  by  the  ankles,  without  altering  his  re 
cumbent  attitude  one  inch.  By  doing  this,  he  might 
give  the  guilty  plotters  such  a  scare  as  would  cause 
them  to  retreat,  and  so  baffle  their  design.  The  thought 
flits  across  his  brain,  but  is  instantly  abandoned. 
They  are  not  of  the  stuff  to  be  frightened  at  shadows. 
By  their  talk,  at  least  two  are  desperadoes  ;  and  to  make 
known  his  presence  would  be  only  to  add  another  vie 
tim  to  those  already  doomed  to  death.  What  is  he  io 
do?  For  the  third  time  he  asks  himself  this  question, 
still  unable  to  answer  it.  While  painfully  cogitating, 
his  brain  laboring  to  grasp  some  feasible  plan  of  de- 
fence against  the  threatened  danger,  he  is  warned  of  a 
change.  Some  words  spoken  tell  of  it.  It  is  De  Lara 
who  speaks  them. 

"By  the  way,  camarados,  we're  not  in  a  gjod  posi- 
tion here.  They  may  sight  us  too  soon.  To  make 
things  sure,  we  must  drop  on  them  before  they  can 
draw  their  weapons,  else  some  of  us  may  gel  dropped 
ourselves.' ' 


192  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"Where  could  we  be  better?  I  don't  see.  The 
shadow  of  this  old  boat  favors  us." 

"■  Why  not  crawl  undsr  it?  "  asks  Calderon.  "  There 
Argus  himself  couldn't  see  us." 

Harry  Blew's  heart  beats  at  the  double-quick.  Hid 
time  seems  come ;  and  he  already  fancies  four  pistols 
at  his  head,  or  the  same  number  of  poniards  pointing  to 
his  ribs. 

It  is  a  moment  of  vivid  anxiety,  —  a  crisis,  dread, 
terrible,  almost  agonizing.  Fortunately,  it  is  not  of 
long  duration,  ending  almost  on  the  instant.  lie  is 
relieved  at  hearing  one  of  them  sa}-,  "No;  that  won't 
do  :  we'd  have  trouble  in  scrambling  out  again.  While 
about  it,  they'd  sec  or  hear  us,  and  take  to  their  heels. 
You  must  remember,  it's  but  a  step  to  where  their  boat 
will  be  waiting  them,  with  some  eight  or  ten  of  those 
big  British  tars  in  it.  If  they  got  there  before  we 
overtook  them,  the  tables  would  be  turned  on  us." 

"  You're  right,  Don  Manuel,"  rejoins  De  Lara.  "  It 
won't  do  to  go  under  the  boat ;  and  there's  no  need  for 
as  to  stay  b}'  it.  Mira !  yonder's  a  better  place,  by 
that  wall.  In  its  shadow  no  one  can  see  us  ;  and  the 
gringos  must  pass  within  twenty  feet  of  it.  It's  the 
^ery  spot  for  our  purpose.     Come  !  " 

No  one  objecting,  the  four  figures  start  away  from 
the  side  of  the  )  oat,  and,  gliding  silently  as  spectres 
across  the  strip  of  sandy  beach,  disappear  within  the 
dark  shadow  of  the  wall. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  193 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CRUSADERS    TO  THE    RESCUE. 

Wri AT  am  I  to  do  ?  It  is  the  ex-man  o'-wai^s 
man,  still  lying  under  the  launch,  who  thus 
interrogates  himself  for  the  fourth  time,  and  more  em- 
phatically than  ever,  but  also  in  less  dubious  accent, 
and  less  despairingly.  True,  t)  c  conspiring  assassins 
have  only  stepped  aside  to  a  spot  from  which  they  may 
more  conveniently  descend  upon  their  quarry,  and  be 
surer  of  striking  it ;  but  their  changed  position  has 
left  him  free  to  change  his,  which  he  at  length  deter- 
mines upon  doing.  Their  talk  has  told  him  where  the 
man-of-war's  boat  will  be  awaiting  to  take  the  officers 
back  to  their  ship.  He  knows  the  new  wharf  referred 
to,  the  very  stair  at  which  the  "Crusaders"  have  been 
accustomed  to  bring  their  boats  to.  It  may  be  the 
cutter  with  her  full  crew  of  ten,  or  it  ma}^  be  but  the 
gig :  no  matter  which.  There  cannot  be  fewer  than 
two  oarsmen,  and  these  will  be  sufficient.  A  brace  of 
British  tars,  with  himself  to  make  three,  and  the  offi- 
cers to  tot  up  live  :  that  will  be  more  than  a  match  for 
four  Spanish  Californians.  Four  times  four,  thinks 
Harry  Blew,  even  though  the  sailors,  like  himself,  be 
Hummed,  or  with  nothing  but  their  knives  and  boat- 
hooks.  He  has  no  fear,  if  he  can  but  bring  it  to  an 
encounter  of  this  kind.  The  question  is,  Can  he  do 
so?  And,  first,  can  he  creeo  out  from  under  the  launch, 
and  steal  away  unobserved  r     A  glance  from  under  his 

17 


194  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

sheltering  boat  towards  the  spot  where  the  assassins 
have  placed  themselves  in  ambuscade  satisfies  hi  in 
that  he  can.  The  fog  favors  him.  .  Through  it  he  can- 
not  see  them,  and  should  be  himself  equally  invisible. 
Another  favorable  circumstance,  —  on  the  soft,  sandy 
beach  his  footsteps  will  make  but  slight  noise,  not 
enough  to  be  heard  above  the  continuous  surging  of  the 
surf.  All  this  passes  in  a  moment ;  and  he  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  start,  but  is  stayed  b}T  a  new  apprehen- 
sion. Will  he  be  in  time?  The  stair  at  which  the 
boat  should  be  is  not  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  and 
will  take  but  a  few  minutes  to  reach  it.  Even  if  he 
succeed  in  eluding  the  vigilance  of  the  ambushed  vil- 
lains, will  it  be  possible  for  him  to  get  to  the  pier, 
communicate  with  the  boat's  crew,  and  bring  them 
back  before  the  officers  reach  the  place  of  ambush? 
To  this,  the  answer  is  doubtful ;  and  the  doubt  appalls 
him.  In  his  absence,  the  young  gentlemen  may  arrive 
at  the  fatal  spot.  He  ma}T  return  to  find  their  bodies 
lying  lifeless  along  the  sand,  their  pockets  rifled,  the 
plunderers  and  murderers  gone. 

The  thought  holds  him  irresolute,  hesitating  what 
course  to  take.  Shall  he  remain  till  they  are  heard 
approaching,  then  rush  out,  and  give  them  such  warn- 
ing as  he  may,  throw  himself  by  their  side,  and  do  his 
best  to  defend  them?  Unarmed,  this  would  not  be 
much,  Against  pistols  and  poniards,  he  would  scarce 
count  as  a  combatant.  It  might  but  end  in  all  three 
being  slaughtered  together.  And  there  is  still  a  dan- 
ger of  his  being  discovered  in  his  attempt  to  steal 
awa}^  from  his  place  of  concealment.  He  ma}T  be  fol- 
lowed and  overtaken,  though  he  has  little  fear  of  this. 
Pursued  he  may  be,  but  not  overtaken.  Despite  his 
sea -legs,  he  knows  himself  a  swift  runner.     Were  he 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  195 

assured  of  a  fair  start,  he  "will  hold  his  distance  against 
any  thing  Spanish  or  Californiau.  In  five  minutes  he 
can  reach  the  pier;  in  five  more,  be  back.  If  he  but 
find  the  "Crusaders"  there,  a  word  will  warn  them. 
In  all,  it  might  take  about  ten  minutes.  But.  mean- 
while, Crozier  and  Cadwallader  ma)  get  upon  the 
ground  ;  and  one  minute  after  that  all  would  be  o\  er. 
A  terrible  struggle  agitates  the  breast  of  the  old  man- 
o'-war's  man :  in  his  thoughts  is  a  conflict  agonizing. 
On  either  side  are  pros  and  cons,  requiring  calm  delib- 
eration ;  and  there  is  no  time  for  this.     He  must  act. 

But  one  more  second  spent  in  consideration.  He 
has  confidence  in  the  3Toung  officers.  Both  are  brave 
as  lions,  and,  if  attacked,  will  make  a  tough  fight  of  it. 
Crozier  has  also  caution,  on  which  dependence  may  be 
placed ;  and  at  such  a  time  of  night  he  will  not  be 
going  unguardedly.  The  conflict,  though  unequal,  might 
last  long  enough  for  him,  Harry  Blew,  to  bring  the 
"  Crusaders"  at  least  near  enough  to  cry  out,  and  cheer 
their  officers  with  the  hope  of  help  at  hand.  All  this 
passes  through  his  mind  in  a  tenth  part  of  the  time  it 
takes  to  tell  it.  And,  having  resolved  how  to  act,  he 
hastens  to  carry  out  his  resolution ;  which  is  to  pro- 
ceed in  quest  of  the  boat's  crew. 

Sprawling  like  a  lizard  from  beneath  the  launch,  he 
glides  off  silently  along  the  strand,  —  at  first  with 
slow,  caulious  steps,  and  crouchingly ;  but  soon  erect, 
in  a  rapid  run,  as  if  for  the  saving  of  his  life ;  for  it  is 
lo  save  the  lives  of  others  almost  dear  as  his  own. 
The  five  minutes  are  not  up,  when  his  footsteps  patter 
along  the  planking  of  the  hollow  wooden  wharf.  In 
ten  seconds  after,  he  stands  at  the  head  of  the  sea- 
stairwaj',  looking  down.  Below  is  a  boat  with  men  in 
it,  half  a  score  of  them  seated  on  the  thwarts   soma 


196  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTKESS. 

lolling  over  against  the  gunwales,  asleep.  At  a  glanc€ 
he  can  tell  them  to  be  "  Crusaders."  His  hail  startles 
them  into  activit}T,  one  and  all  recognizing  the  voice 
of  their  old  shipmate.  "Quick!"  he  cries;  "quick, 
mates !  Come  along  with  me !  Don't  stay  to  ask 
questions.  Enough  for  3^011  to  know  that  the  lives  of 
your  officers  are  in  danger." 

It  proves  enough.  The  tars  don't  wait  for  a  word 
more,  but  spring  up  from  their  recumbent  attitude, 
and  out  of  the  boat.  Rushing  up  the  steps,  the}'  clus- 
ter around  their  comrade.  The}'  have  not  needed  in- 
structions to  arm  themselves.  Harry's  speech,  with 
its  tone,  tells  of  some  shore  hostility  ;  and  they  have 
instinctively  made  ready  to  meet  it.  Each  has  laid 
hold  of  the  weapon  nearest  to  his  hand  ;  some  a  knife, 
some  an  oar,  others  a  boat-hook. 

"Heave  along  with  me,  lads!"  cries  Blew;  and 
they  "  heave  at  his  heels,  rushing  after,  as  if  to  extin- 
guish a  fire  in  the  forecastle. 

Soon  they  are  coursing  along  the  strand,  towards 
the  upturned  boat,  silently,  and  without  asking  expla- 
nation. If  they  did,  they  could  not  get  it ;  for  their 
leader  is  panting,  breathless,  almost  unable  to  utter 
a  word.  But  five  issue  from  his  throat,  jerked  out 
disjointedly,  and  in  hoarse  utterance  They  are, 
"  Crozier  —  Cadwallader  —  waylaid  —  robbers  —  mur- 
derers ! " 

Enough  to  spur  the  "  Crusaders  "  to  their  best  speed, 
if  they  had  not  been  already  at  it.  But  they  are  ;  every 
man  of  them  straining  his  strength  to  the  utmost.  As 
they  rush  on,  clearing  the  thick  fog,  Harry,  at  their 
head,  listens  intently.  As  yet  he  hears  no  sound,  only 
th?  monotonous  swashing  of  the  sea,  and  the  murmur 
of  distant  voices  in  the  streets  of  the  town.     But  no 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  197 

pries,  no  shouts,  nor  shots  ;  nothing  to  tell  of  deadly 
strife. 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  says  the  brave  sailor,  half 
speaking  to  himself:  "  we'll  be  in  time  to  save  them." 
The  words  have  scarce  passed  from  his  lips,  when  he 
oomes  in  sight  of  the  capsized  launch  ;  and  simultane- 
ously he  sees  two  figures  upon  the  beach  beyond.  They 
are  of  human  shape,  but  through  the  fog  looking  large 
as  giants.  He  is  not  beguiled  03*  the  deception :  he 
knows  them  to  be  the  forms  of  the  two  officers  magnified 
by  the  mist.  No  others  are  likely  to  be  coming  that 
wa}',  for  he  can  perceive  they  are  approaching;  and 
as  can  be  told  by  their  careless,  swaggering  gait,  un- 
suspicious of  danger,  little  dreaming  of  an  ambuscade, 
that  in  ten  seconds  more  may  deprive  them  of  exist- 
ence. 

To  him,  hunwing  to  prevent  this  catastrophe,  it  is  a 
moment  of  intense  apprehension, — of  dread,  chilling 
fear.  He  sees  the  young  officers  almost  up  to  the 
place  where  the  assassins  should  spring  out  upon  them. 
In  another  instant  he  ma}'  hear  the  cracking  of  pistols, 
and  see  their  flashes  through  the  fog.  Expecting  it 
even  before  he  can  speak,  he  nevertheless  calls  out, 
"  Halt  there,  Mr.  Crozier  !  We're  '  Crusaders.'  Stop 
where  3*011  are.  Another  step,  and  3-011' 11  be  shot  a". 
There's  four  men  under  that  wall,  waiting  to  murder 
ye.  D'3*e  know  the  names,  —  Calderon  and  Lara  ?  It's 
them!  " 

At  the  first  words  the  young  officers  —  for  it  is  they 
—  instantl}-  stop  ;  the  more  promptly  from  being  pre- 
pared to  anticipate  an  attack,  but  without  the  warning. 
Well  timed  it  is  ;  and  they  have  not  stopped  a  moment 
too  soon.  Simultaneous  with  the  sailor's  last  speech, 
the  sombre  space  under  the  wall  is  lit  up  by  four  flash* 

17* 


198  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

es,  followed  by  the  :eport  of  as  many  pistols ;  whiles 
the  "  tzip-tzip  "  of  bullets,  like  hornets  hurtling  past 
their  ears,  leaves  them  no  doubt  as  to  who  has  been 
fired  at.  Fired  at,  and  fortunately  missed  ;  for  neither 
feels  hurt  nor  hit.  But  the  danger  is  not  yet  over. 
Quick  following  the  first  comes  a  second  ATolley,  and 
again  with  like  result.  Bad  marksmen  are  they  who 
design  doing  murder.  It  is  the  last.  In  all  likelihood, 
the  pistols  of  the  ass  assins  are  double-barrelled ;  and 
both  barrels  have  been  discharged.  Before  they  can  re- 
load them,  Harry  Blew  with  the  ' '  Crusaders ' '  have  come 
up  ;  and  it  is  too  late  for  De  Lara  and  his  confederates 
to  employ  their  poniards.  Crozier  and  Cadwallader 
bound  forward,  and,  placing  themselves  at  the  head  of 
the  boat's  crew,  advance  toward  the  shadowed  spot. 
The  }Toung  officers  have  long  since  drawn  their  pistols, 
but  prudently  retained  their  fire,  seeing  nothing  sure  to 
aim  at.  Now  they  go  with  a  rush,  resolved  on  coming 
to  close  quarters  with  their  dastardly  assailants,  and 
bringing  the  affair  to  a  speed}"  termination.  But  it  is 
over  alreadjr,  to  their  surprise,  as  also  chagrin.  On 
i caching  the  wall,  the}r  find  nothing  there  save  stones 
and  timber.  The  dark  space,  for  an  instant  illuminated 
by  the  pistol-flashes,  has  resumed  its  grim  obscurity. 
The  assassins  have  got  awa}-,  escaping  the  chastisement 
they  would  surely  have  received,  had  they  stood  their 
ground.  Some  figures  are  seen  in  the  distance,  scut- 
tling along  a  narrow  lane.  Crozier  brings  his  revolver 
to  bear  on  them,  his  finger  upon  the  trigger.  But  it 
may  not  be  them ;  and,  stayed  by  the  uncertainty,  he 
refrains  from  firing.  "  Let  them  go  !  "  he  says,  return- 
ing the  pistol  to  his  pocket.  "  'Twould  be  no  use 
looking  for  them  now.  Their  crime  will  keep  till 
morning :  and,  since  we  know  their  names,  it  will  be 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  199 

strange  if  we  can't  find  them,  though  not  so  strange  if 
we  should  fail  to  get  them  punished.  That  they  shall  be, 
if  there's  a  semblance  of  law  to  be  found  in  San  Fran- 
cisco.—  Now,  thanks,  my  brave  'Crusaders!'  And 
there's  a  hundred  pound-note  to  be  divided  among  3-ou. 
Small  reward  for  the  saving  of  two  lives  with  a  goodly 
sum  of  money.  Certainly,  had  3-011  not  turned  up  so 
opportunely  —  But  how  came  you  to  be  here  ?  Never 
mind  now!  Let  us  get  aboard;  and  you,  Blew,  must 
come  with  us.  It'll  do  you  no  harm  to  spend  one  more 
night  on  your  old  ship.     There  3-011  can  tell  me  all." 

Harry  joyfully  complies  with  a  requisition  so  much 
to  his  mind  ;  and,  instead  of  tossing  discontentedly  on 
a  couch  of  wet  sand,  he  that  night  sleeps  soundty  in 
his  old  bunk  in  the  frigate's  forecastle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN     FLIGHT. 

A  COUNTRY-HOUSE  ten  miles  distant  from  San 
Francisco,  in  a  south-westerly  direction.  It 
stands  back  from  the  ba3%  halfway  between  it  and  the 
Pacific;  among  the  Coast  Range  hills.  Though  built  of 
mud-brick, — the  sort  made  b}r  the  Israelites  in  Eg3~pt, 
—  and  with  no  pretension  to  architectural  st3'le,  it  is,  in 
Californian  parlance,  a  hacienda;  for  it  is  the  head- 
quarters of  a  grazing  estate,  though  not  one  of  the 
first  class,  either  in  stock  or  appointments.  In  both 
respects,  it  was  once  better  off  than  now ;  since  now 
it  is  less  than  second,  showing  signs  of  dtcay  every 


200  THE  FJ  AG  OF  DISTRESS. 

where,  but  nowhere  so  much  as  in  the  house  itself,  anv 
the  enclosures  around  it.  The  walls  are  weather 
washed,  here  and  there  cracked  and  crumbling:  the 
doors  have  seen  no  paint  for  years,  and,  opening  01 
shutting,  creak  upon  hinges  thickly  coated  with  rust 
The  corrals  contain  no  cattle  ;  nor  are  there  airy  to  be 
seen  upon  the  pastures  outside.  In  short,  the  estate 
shows  as  cif  it  had  an  absentee  owner,  or  been  aban- 
doned altogether.  And  the  house  might  appear  unin- 
habited, but  for  some  peons  seen  sauntering  listlessly 
around  it,  and  a  barefoot  damsel  or  two,  standing 
dishevelled  by  its  door,  or  in  its  kitchen  kneeling  over 
the  metate,  and  squeezing  out  the  maize-dough  for  the 
eternal  tortillas.  However,  despite  its  neglected  ap- 
pearance, it  has  an  owner ;  and,  with  all  their  indo- 
lence, the  lounging  leperos  outside,  and  slatternly 
wenches  within,  have  a  master.  He  is  not  often  at 
home  ;  but,  when  he  is,  they  address  him  as  Don  Faus- 
tino.  Servants  rarely  add  the  surname.  If  these  did, 
they  would  call  him  Don  Faustino  Calderon  ;  for  he  ia 
the  dueno  of  the  deca^-ed  dwelling.  Only  at  intervals 
do  his  domestics  see  him.  He  spends  nearly  all  his 
+ime  elsewhere,  —  most  of  it  in  Yerba  Buena,  now 
styled  San  Francisco.  And  of  late  more  than  ever  ha3 
he  absented  himself  from  his  ancestral  halls,  for  the 
hacienda  is  the  house  in  which  he  was  born  ;  it,  with 
the  surrounding  pasture-land,  left  him  by  his  father, 
some  time  deceased.  Since  coming  into  possession,  he 
has  neglected  his  patrimony,  indeed,  spent  the  greater 
porlion  of  it  on  cards,  and  debaucheiy  of  every  kind. 
The  estate  is  Iiea\'ily  mortgaged :  the  house  has  become 
almost  a  ruin.  In  his  absence,  it  looks  even  more  like 
one  ;  for  then  his  domestics,  having  nothing  to  do,  are 
scarce  ever  seen  outside,  to  give  the  place  an  appear 


A  ST0R1    OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  201 

mice  of  life.  Fond  of  card  i  as  their  master,  they  may 
at  such  times  be  observed  squatted  upon  the  pavement 
of  the  inner  court,  playing  month  on  a  spread  blanket, 
with  copper  ciacos  staked  upon  the  game.  When  the 
dueno  is  at  home,  things  are  a  little  diffeient ;  for  Don 
Faustino,  with  all  lis  dissipation,  is  any  thing  but  an 
indulgent  master.  Then  his  domestics  have  to  move 
about,  and  wait  upon  him  with  assiduity.  If  they 
don't,  they  will  hear  carajos  from  his  lips,  and  get  cuts 
from  his  riding- whip. 

It  is  the  morning  after  that  night  when  the  montfi 
bank  suspended  play  and  pa}' ;  the  time,  six  o'clock, 
a.m.  Notwithstanding  the  early  hour,  the  domestics 
are  stirring  about  the  place,  as  if  they  had  something 
to  do,  and  were  doing  it.  To  one  acquainted  with 
their  usual  habits,  the  brisk  movement  will  be  inter- 
preted as  a  sure  sign  that  their  master  is  at  home. 
And  he  is  ;  though  he  has  been  there  but  a  very  short 
time,  — only  a  few  minutes.  Absent  for  more  than  a 
week,  he  has  this  morning  made  his  appearance  just 
as  the  day  was  breaking ;  not  alone,  but  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  gentleman,  whom  all  his  servants  know  to 
be  his  intimate  friend  and  associate,  —  Don  Francisco 
de  Lara.  They  have  ridden  up  to  the  house  in  haste, 
dropped  the  bridles  on  the  necks  of  their  horses,  and, 
without  saying  a  word,  left  these  to  the  care  of  a  cou- 
ple of  grooms,  rudely  roused  from  their  sLuriber.  The 
house-servants,  lazily  opening  the  huge  door  of  the 
saguan,  see  that  the  dueno  is  in  ill  humor,  which  sti.*3 
them  into  activity.  In  haste  they  prepare  the  repa&t 
called  for,  —  desayuno. 

Having  entered,  and  taken  seats,  Don  Faustino  anc 
his  guest  await  the  serving  of  the  meal,  *or  a  while  in 
silence,  each  with  an  elbow  rested  on  the  table,  a  hand 


202  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

supporting  his  head,  the  fingers  buried  in  his  hair 
The  silence  is  at  length  broken  ;  the  host,  as  it  should 
be,  speaking  first. 

"What  had  we  best  do,  De  Lara?  I  don't  think 
'twill  be  safe  sta}Ting  here.  After  what's  happened, 
they're  sure  to  come  after  us." 

"  That's  probable  enough.  Caspita!  I'm  puzzled  to 
make  out  how  that  fellow  who  called  out  our  names 
could  have  known  we  were  there.  'Crusaders,'  he 
said  they  were  ;  which  means  the}"  were  sailors  belong- 
ing to  the  war-ship,  of  course  the  boat's  crew  that  was 
waiting.  But  what  brought  them  up  ?  and  how  came 
they  to  arrive  there  and  then  just  in  the  nick  of  time 
to  spoil  our  plans?     That's  the  mystery  to  me." 

"  To  me  too." 

"  There  were  no  sailors  hanging  about  the  hotel,  that 
I  saw ;  nor  did  we  encounter  an}T  as  we  went  through 
the  streets.  Besides,  if  we  had,  they  couldn't  have 
passed  us,  and  then  come  up  from  the  opposite  side, 
without  our  seeing;  them,  dark  as  it  was.  'Tis  enough 
to  make  me  believe  in  second-sight." 

"  That  seems  the  only  wa}-  to  explain  it." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  won't  and  don't.  I've  been  thinking 
of  another  explanation,  more  conformable  to  the  laws 
of  nature." 

"What?" 

"  That  there's  been  somebody  under  that  old  boat. 
We  stood  talking  there  like  four  fools,  calling  out  one 
another's  namea-  Now,  suppose  one  of  those  sailors 
was  waiting  by  the  boat  as  we  came  along,  and,  seeing 
us,  crept  under  it?  He  could  have  hearl  ever}'  thing 
we  said,  and  slipping  off,  after  we  retired  to  the 
shadow,  might  have  brought  up  the  rest  of  the  accursed 
crew.  The  thing  seems  strange  :  at  the  same  time  it's 
possible  enough,  and  probable  too." 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SI  k.  203 

It  lii.  And,  now  you  speak  of  it,  I  remember  some* 
tk*«£.  While  we  were  standing  under  the  wall,  I  fan- 
cieit  I  w\y  a  man  crouching  aloug  the  water's  edge,  as 
if  going  away  from  the  boat.'' 

"You  did?" 

"I'm  almost  certain  I  did.  At  the  time  I  thought 
nothing  of  it,  as  we  were  watching  for  the  other  two ; 
and  I  had  no  suspicion  of  any  one  else  being  about. 
Now  I  believe  there  was  one." 

"And  now  I  believe  so  too.  Yes:  that  accounts 
for  every  thing.  I  see  it  all.  That's  how  the  sailor 
got  our  names,  and  knew  all  about  our  design,  — that 
to  do  —  murder!  You  needn't  start  at  the  word,  nor 
turn  pale ;  but  3*011  may  at  the  prospect  before  us. 
Carrai!  we're  in  danger  now,  no  mistake  about  it. 
Calderon,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  at  the  time  3-011  saw 
that  man  ? ' ' 

"Because,  as  I've  said,  I  had  no  thought  it  could 
be  any  one  connected  with  them." 

"  Well,  3-our  thoughtlessness  has  got  us  into  a  fix 
indeed,  —  the  worst  ever  I've  been  in  ;  and  I  can  remem- 
ber a  few.  No  use  to  think  about  duelling  now,  who- 
ever might  be  challenger.  Instead  of  seconds,  the3''d 
meet  us  with  a  posse  of  sheriff's  officers.  Likely 
enough  they'll  be  setting  them  after  us  before  this. 
Although  I  feel  sure  our  bullets  didn't  hit  either,  it'll 
be  jus  t  as  bad.  The  attempt  will  tell  against  us  all  the 
game.  Therefore  it  won't  do  to  staj-  here.  So  direct 
your  servants  not  to  unsaddle.  We'll  need  to  be  off 
soon  as  we've  swallowed  a  cup  of  chocolate." 

A  call  from  Don  Faustino  brings  one  of  his  domestics 
to  the  door ;  then  a  word  or  two  sends  him  off  with  the 
order  for  keeping  the  horses  in  hand. 

"  Chingara :•/  "  fiercely  exclaims  De  Lara,  striking 


204  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

the  table  with  his  shut  fist,  "  every  thing  has  gone 
against  us." 

"  Every  thing  indeed.  Our  money  lost,  our  love 
made  light  of,  our  revenge  baffled  "  — 

"  No,  not  the  last !  Have  no  fear,  Faustino.  That's 
still  to  come." 

"How?" 

"  How,  you  ask,  do  3-011?  " 

"  I  do.  I  can't  see  what  way  we  can  get  it  now. 
You  know  the  English  officers  will  be  gone  in  a  day  or 
two.  Their  ship  is  to  sail  soon.  Last  night  there  was 
talk  in  the  town  that  she  might  leave  at  any  moment,  — 
to-morrow,  or  it  ma}^  be  this  very  day." 

"  Let  her  go,  and  them  with  her.  The  sooner,  the 
better  for  us.  That  won't  hinder  us  from  the  revenge 
I  for  one  want.  On  the  contrary,  'twill  help  us.  Ha ! 
I  shall  strike  this  Crozier  in  his  tenderest  part ;  and 
you  can  do  the  same  for  Senor  Cadwallader." 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"  Faustino  Caldcron,  I  won't  call  you  a  fool,  not- 
withstanding j'our  behavior  last  night.  But  you  ask 
some  very  silly  questions,  and  that's  one  of  them. 
Supposing  Jiese  gringos  gone  from  here,  does  it  follow 
they'll  take  every  thing  along  with  them?  Can  you 
think  of  nothing  they  must  needs  leave  behind?  "    ' 

"  Their  hearts.     Is  that  what  3-011  mean? " 

"No,  it  isn't." 

"What,  then?" 

"  Their  sweethearts,  stupid  !  " 

"  But  they're  going  too." 

"  So  you  say,  and  so  it  may  be ;   but  not  before 
another  event  takes  place,  —  one  that  ma3r  embarrass 
and  dela3^,  if  it  do  not  altogether  prevent,  their  depart 
ure." 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  20D 

"Amiga,  you  talk  enigmatically.  "Will  you  oblige 
me  by  speaking  plainer?" 

"  I  will,  but  not  till  we've  had  our  chocolate,  and 
after  it  a  copitix  of  Catalan.  I  need  a  little  alcohol  to 
get  my  brain  in  working-order;  for  there's  woi\*  for  it 
to  do.  Enough  now  to  tell  3-ou  I've  had  a  revelation. 
A  good  angel  (or  it  mtxy  be  a  bad  one)  has  visited  me, 
and  given  it,  —  a  vision  which  shows  me  at  the  same 
time  riches  and  revenge,  pointing  the  straight  way  to 
both." 

"  Has  the  vision  shown  that  I  am  to  be  a  sharer?  " 

"  It  has  ;  and  3*011  shall  be,  but  011I3-  in  propoition  as 
you  ma}'  prove  3-ourself  worth}'." 

"  F  faith  !  I'll  do  my  best.  I  have  the  will,  if  you'll 
onl}*  instruct  me  in  the  way." 

M  I'll  do  that.  But  I  warn  3-011  'twill  need  more  than 
will,  —  strength,  secrecy,  courage,  determination." 

"  Desayuno,  senores !  "  This  from  one  of  the  domes- 
tics, announcing  the  chocolate  served. 

A  few  moments  suffice  for  the  slight  matutinal  repast ; 
after  which  a  decanter  of  Catalonian  brand}',  and 
glasses,  are  placed  upon  the  table,  with  a  bundle  of 
Manila  cheroots,  size  number  one.  While  the  glasses 
are  being  filled,  and  the  cigars  lighted,  there  is  silence. 
Then  Calderon  calls  upon  his  guest  to  impart  the  par- 
ticulars of  that  visionaiy  revelation  which  promises  to 
give  them  at  the  same  time  riches  and  revenge. 

Taking  a  sip  of  the  potent  spirit,  and  a  puff  or  two 
at  his  cigar,  De  Lara  responds  to  the  call.  But  first 
leaning  across  the  table,  and  looking  his  confederate 
straight  in  the  face,  he  asks,  in  an  odd  fashion,  "  Are 
you  a  bankrupt,  Faustino  Calderon?  " 

"  You  know  I  am.     Why  do  3'ou  put  the  question?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  be  sure  before  making  known 

18 


206  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

to  you  the  scheme  I've  hinted  at.     As  I've  told  you 
I'm  after  no  child's  play.     I  ask  again,  Are  you  a 
bankrupt?  " 

4 'And  I  answer  3*ou,  I  am  But  what  has  that  to 
do  with  it?  " 

"  A  good  deal.  Never  mi  id.  You  are  one?  You 
assure  me  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  do.  I'm  as  poor  as  yourself,  if  not  poorer,  after 
last  night's  losses.  I'd  embarked  all  my  money  in  the 
month  concern." 

"But  you  have  something  besides  money?  This 
house  and  your  lands  ?  " 

"Mortgaged  —  months  ago  —  up  to  the  eyes,  the 
ears,  the  crown  of  the  head.  That's  where  the  cash 
came  from  to  set  up  the  bank  that's  broken,  breaking 
me  along  with  it." 

"  And  you've  nothing  left?  No  chance  for  starting 
it  again?" 

"Not  a  claco.  Here  I  am  apparently  in  my  own 
house,  with  servants,  such  as  they  are,  around  me.  It's 
all  in  appearance.  In  reality ,  I'm  not  the  owner.  I 
once  was,  as  my  father  before  me,  but  can't  claim  to 
be  any  longer.  Even  while  we're  sitting  here,  drink- 
ing this  Catalan,  the  mortgagee  —  that  old  usurer  Mar- 
tinez —  may  step  in,  and  kick  us  both  out." 

"I'd  like  him  to  try!  He'd  catch  a  Tartar,  if  he 
attempted  to  kick  me  out,  — he,  or  anybody  else,  just 
now,  in  my  present  humor.  There's  far  more  reason 
for  us  to  fear  being  pulled  out  b}T  policemen,  which 
makes  it  risky  to  remain  here  talking.  So  let's  to  the 
point  at  once,  back  to  where  we  left  off.  On  }-our 
oath,  Faustino  Calderon,  you're  no  longer  a  man  of 


monev : 


7  5: 


"  On  my  oath,  Francisco  de  Lara,  I  haven't  an  onza 
left,  —  no,  not  a  peso." 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  207 

"Enough.  Now  that  I  know  your  financial  status, 
we  will  understand  one  another ;  and,  without  further 
sircumlocution,  I  shall  make  you  a  sharer  of  the  bright 
thought  that  has  flashed  across  my  brain." 

"  Let  me  hear  what  it  is.     I'm  all  impatience." 

"  Not  so  fast,  Faustino.  As  I've  already  twice  told 
you,  it's  no  child's  play,  but  a  business  that  requires 
skill  and  courage,  above  all,  fidelity,  among  those  who 
may  engage  in  it ;  for  more  than  two  are  needed.  It 
will  want  at  least  four  good  and  true  men.  I  know 
three  of  them :  about  the  fourth,  I'm  not  so  certain." 

"Who  are  the  three?" 

"Francisco  de  Lara,  Manuel  Diaz,  and  Rafael 
Rocas." 

"  And  the  fourth,  about  whom  you  are  dubious?  " 

"  Faustino  Calderon." 

"  Why  do  you  doubt  me,  De  Lara?" 

"  Don't  call  it  doubting.  I  only  say  I'm  not  certain 
about  you." 

"  But  for  what  reason?  " 

"  Besause  3*011  ma}r  be  squeamish,  or  get  scared. 
Not  that  there's  much  real  danger.  There  ma3*n't  be 
any,  if  the  thing's  cleverly  managed.  But  there  must 
be  no  bungling,  and,  above  all,  no  backing  out,  nothing 
like  treason." 

"  Can't  3*011  trust  me  so  far  as  to  give  a  hint  of  3*our 
scheme?  As  to  m3T  being  squeamish,  I  think,  seizor, 
you  do  me  injustice  to  suppose  such  a  thing.  The 
experience  of  the  last  twent3*-four  hours  has  made  a 
serious  change  in  my  way  of  viewing  matters  of  morality. 
A  man  who  has  lost  his  all,  and  suddenly  sees  himself 
a  beggar,  isn't  disposed  to  be  sensitive.  Come,  cama- 
rado!  tell  me,  and  try  me." 

"  I  intend  doing  both,    but  not  just  yet.     It's  an 


208  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

affair  that  calls  for  certain  formalities,  among  then 
some  swearing*  Those  who  embark  in  it  must  be 
bound  by  a  so'emn  oath  ;  and,  when  we  all  get  together, 
this  shall  be  done.  Time  enough  then  for  3-011  to  know 
what  I'm  aiming  at.  Now  I  can  only  say,  that,  if  the 
scheme  succeed,  two  things  are  sure,  and  both  concern 
j-ourself,  Faustino  Caldel•on.', 

"  What  are  they?  You  can  trust  me  with  that  much, 
I  suppose?" 

"  Certainly  I  can  and  shall.  The  first  is,  that  jxni'll 
be  a  richer  man  than  3*011* vc  ever  been  since  I've  had 
the  honor  of  3-our  acquaintance ;  the  second,  that 
Don  Gregorio  Montijo  will  not  leave  California,  at 
least  not  quite  so  soon,  nor  altogether  in  the  way,  he  is 
wishing.  You  ma3T  have  plcnt}'  of  time  3-et,  and  oppor- 
tunities too,  to  press  3-our  suit  with  the  fair  Inez." 

"  Carramba!     Secure  me  that,  and  I  swear"  — 

44  You  needn't  set  about  swearing  3-et.  You  can  do 
that  when  the  occasion  calls  for  it.  Till  then,  I'll  take 
3-our  word.  With  one  in  love,  as  3-011  believe  your- 
self, that  should  be  binding  as  any  oath,  especially 
when  it  promises  such  a  rich  reward." 

"  You're  sure  about  Diaz  and  Rocas?  " 

"  Quite  so.  With  them  there  won't  be  need  for  any 
piolonged  conference.  When  a  man  sees  the  ohanc. 
of  getting  sixty  thousand  dollars  in  a  lump  sum,  he's 
pretty  certain  to  act  prompt^-,  and  without  being  par- 
ticular as  to  what  that  action  is." 

"  Sixty  thousand  dollars  !  That's  to  be  the  share  of 
each?  " 

"That,  and  more,  maybe." 

"  It  makes  one  crazy,  even  to  think  of  such  s 
6um." 

"  Don't  go  crazed  till  you've  got  it ;  then  ycu  may," 

"  If  I  do,  it  won't  be  with  grief." 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOT/TH  SEA.  209 

%Ij  shouldn't,  since  it  will  give  you  a  fresh  lease 
Df  sweet  life,  and  renew  your  hopes  of  having  the  wife 
you  want.  But  come,  we  must  get  away  if  we  wish 
to  avoid  being  taken  away,  though,  I  fancy,  there's 
nothing  to  apprehend  for  some  hours  yet.  The  gringos 
have  gone  on  board  their  ship,  and  are  not  likely  to 
come  ashore  agaia.  before  breakfast.  What  with  their 
last  night's  revelry,  it'll  take  them  some  time  to  get  the 
cobwebs  out  of  their  eyes  after  waking  up.  Besides, 
if  they  should  make  it  a  law  matter,  there'll  be  all  the 
business  of  looking  up  warrants,  and  the  like.  They 
do  these  things  rather  slowly  in  San  Francisco.  Then 
there's  the  ten  miles  out  here,  even  if  they  strike  our 
trail  so  straight.  No,  we  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  so  far 
as  that  goes.  But  the  other's  a  thing  that  won't  keep, 
and  must  be  set  about  at  once.  Fortunately,  the  road 
that  takes  us  to  a  place  of  concealment  is  the  same  we 
have  to  travel  upon  business  ;  and  that  is  to  the  rancho 
of  Rocas.  There  I've  appointed  to  meet  Diaz,  who'd 
have  come  with  us  here,  but  that  he  preferred  staying 
all  night  in  the  town.  But  he'll  be  there  betimes  ;  and 
we  can  all  remain  with  old  Rafael  till  this  ugly  wind 
blows  past,  which  it  will  in  a  week,  or  soon  as  the 
English  ship  sails  off.  If  not,  we  must  keep  out  of 
sight  a  little  longer,  or  leave  San  Francisco  for  good." 

"  I  hope  we'll  not  be  forced  to  that  I  shouldn't  at 
all  like  to  leave  it." 

"  Like  it  or  not,  you  may  not  have  the  choice.  And 
what  does  it  signify  where  a  man  lives ;  so  long  as  he's 
got  sixty  thousand  dollars  to  live  on  ? ' J 

"  True  :  that  ought  to  made  any  place  pleasant.'' 

"  "Well ;  I  tell  you  you  will  have  it,  maybe  more. 
But  not  if  we  stand  palavering  here.     JWos  vamosl" 

A  call  from  Cakleron  summons  a  servant,  who  is 
18» 


210  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

directed  to  nave  the  horses  brought  to  the  door.  These 
soon  appear,  under  the  guidance  of  two  ragged  grooms, 
who,  delivering  them,  see  their  master  mount,  and  ride 
off,  the}' know  not  whither ;  nor  care  they,  so  long  as  they 
arc  themselves  left  to  idleness,  with  a  plentiful  supply 
of  black  beans,  jerked  meat,  and  month.  Soon  the  two 
horsemen  disappear  behind  the  hills  ;  and  the  lrypothe- 
f,ated  house  resumes  its  wonted  look  of  desolation. 


CHAPTER    XXVH. 

A     CONVERSATION     WITH     ORANGS. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  his  comfortable  quarters 
in  the  frigate,  Harry  Blew  is  up  by  earty  day- 
break, and  off  from  the  ship  before  six  bells  have 
sounded.  Ere  retiring  to  rest,  he  had  communicated 
to  his  patron  Crozier  a  full  account  of  his  zigzag  wan- 
derings through  the  streets  of  San  Francisco,  and  how 
he  came  to  bring  the  boat's  crew  to  the  rescue.  As  the 
two  officers  are  not  on  the  earlv  morning  watch,  but  still 
abed,  he  does  not  await  their  rising  ;  for  knowing  that 
the  adage,  "  First  come  first  served,"  is  often  true,  he  is 
anxious,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  present  himself  at  the 
office  of  the  agent  Silvestre,  and  from  him  get  directions 
for  going  on  board  the  "  Condor."  He  is  alive  to  the 
hint  given  him  by  Crozier,  that  there  may  be  a  chance 
of  his  being  made  mate  of  the  Chilian  ship.  As  3-et,  ne 
does  not  even  know  the  name  of  the  vessel ;  but  that  he 
will  learn  at  the  office,  as  also  where  she  is  lj'ing.  His 
request  to  the  lieutenant  on  duty,  for  a  boat  to  set  him 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  211 

ashore,  is  at  once  and  willingly  granted.  jNo  officei 
on  that  frigate  would  refuse  Harry  Blew  ;  and  the  dingy 
is  placed  at  his  service.  In  this  he  is  conveyed  to  the 
wooden  pier,  whose  planks  he  treads  with  heavier  step, 
but  lighter  heart,  than  when,  on  the  night  before,  he 
ran  along  them  in  quest  of  assistance.  With  heavier 
purse  too,  as  he  carries  a  hundred-pound  Bank-of- 
England  note  in  the  pocket  of  his  pea-jacket,  —  a  part- 
ing gift  from  the  generous  Crozier,  —  besides  a  num- 
ber of  gold-pieces  received  from  Cadwallader  as  the 
young  Welshman's  share  of  gratitude  for  the  service 
done  them.  Thus  amply  provided,  he  might  proceed 
at  once  to  the  Sailor's  Home,  and  bring  away  his  em- 
bargoed property.  He  does  not.  Better  first  to  see 
about  the  berth  on  the  Chilian  ship  ;  and  therefore  he 
steers  direct  for  the  agent's  office. 

Though  it  is  still  early,  by  good  luck  Don  Tomas 
chances  to  be  already  at  his  desk.  Harry  presents  the 
card  given  him  by  Crozier,  at  the  same  time  declaring 
the  purpose  for  which  he  has  presented  himself.  In 
return,  he  receives  from  Silvestre  instructions  to  report 
himself  on  board  the  Chilian  ship  "  El  Condor."  Don 
Tomas,  furnishing  him  with  a  note  of  introduction  to 
her  captain,  points  out  the  vessel,  which  is  visible  from 
his  door,  and  at  no  great  distance  off. 

"  Capt.  Lantanas  is  coming  ashore,"  adds  the  agent. 
"  I  expect  him  in  the  course  of  an  hour.  By  waiting 
here,  3*011  can  see  him ;  and  it  will  save  your  boat- 
hire." 

But  Harry  Blew  will  not  wait.  He  remembers  the 
old  sajing  about  procrastination,  and  is  determined 
there  shall  be  no  mishap  through  negligence  on  his 
part,  oi'  niggardliness  about  a  boat-fare.  He  Las  mrde 
up  his  mind  to  be  the  "  Condor's  "  first  mate—  if  he 


212  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

can.  Nor  is  it  altogether  ambition  that  prompts  him 
to  seek  the  office  so  earnestly.  A  nobler  sentiment 
inspires  him,  —  the  knowledge,  t^aat,  in  this  capacity, 
lie  may  be  of  more  service,  and  better  capable  of  afford* 
ing  protection,  to  the  fair  creatures  whom  Crozier  has 
committed  to  his  charge. 

The  watermen  of  San  Francisco  harbor  do  not  ply 
their  oars  gratuitously.  Even  the  shabbiest  of  shore- 
boats,  hired  for  the  shortest  time,  demands  a  stiffish 
fare.  It  will  cost  Harry  Blew  a  couple  of  dollars  to 
be  set  aboard  the  "Condor;"  though  she  is  tying 
scarce  three  cables'  length  from  the  shore.  What 
cares  he  for  that?  It  is  nothing  now.  Hailing  the 
nearest  skiff  with  a  waterman  in  it,  he  points  to  the 
Chilian  ship,  saying,  "  Heave  along,  lad,  an'  put  me 
aboard  o'  3-onder  craft,  —  that  one  as  shows  the  tricolor 
bit  o'  buntin'  wi'  a  single  star  in  the  blue.  The 
sooner  3-e  do  3*our  job,  the  better  3-e'll  get  paid  foi 
it." 

A  contract  on  such  conditions  is  usually  entered  into 
with  alacrity,  and  with  celerit}-  carried  out.  The  boat- 
man beaches  his  tin}-  craft,  takes  in  his  fare  ;  and,  in 
less  than  ten  minutes'  time,  Harry  Blew  swarms  up 
the  man-ropes  of  the  Chilian  ship,  strides  over  the 
rail,  and  drops  down  upon  her  deck.  He  looks  around, 
but  sees  no  one.  At  least  nothing  in  the  shape  of 
a  sailor ;  only  an  old  negro,  with  a  skin  black  as  a 
boot,  and  crow-footed  all  over  the  face,  standing  be- 
side two  singular  creatures  nearly  as  human-like  as 
himself,  but  covered  with  fox-colored  hair,  —  the  pets 
of  Capt.  Lantanas.  The  old  man-o'-war's-man  is  for 
a  time  in  doubt  as  to  which  of  the  three  he  should 
address  himself.  Ir.  point  of  intelligence,  there  seems 
not  much  to  choose.     However,  he  with  the  black  skin 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  213 

cuts  short  his  hesitation  by  coming  up,  and  saj'ing, 
"  Well,  raass'r  sailor-man,  wha'  you  come  for?  S'posa 
you  want  see  dc  capen.     I'se  onty  de  cook.,, 

"Oh!  you're  011I3*  the  cook,  are  3*011?  Well,  old 
caboose,  you've  made  a  correct  guess  about  my  biz- 
ness.     It's  the  capten  I  want  to  see." 

"  All  right.  He  down  in  de  cabin.  You  wait  hya : 
I  fotch  'im  up  less'n  no  time." 

The  old  darky,  shuffling  aft,  disappears  down  the 
companion-way,  leaving  Harry  with  the  two  monstrous- 
looking  creatures,  whom  he  has  now  made  out  to  be 
orang-outangs. 

"  Well,  mates,"  says  the  sailo  *,  addressing  them 
in  a  jocular  way,  "what  be  your  tpeenyun  o'  things 
in  general?  D'3-e  think  the  wind's  goin'  to  stay  sou'- 
westerly,  or  shift  roun'  to  the  nor'-eastart?  " 

4 '  Cro  —  cro  —  croak  !  " 

"  Oh,  hang  it,  no !  I  ain't  o'  the  croakin'  sort. 
Ha' n't  3'e  got  nothin'  more  sensible  than  that  to  say 
tome?" 

-  -  Kurra  —  kra  —  kra  !     Cro  —  cro  —  croak  !  ' ' 

u  No,  I  won't  do  anj'  think  o'  the  kind  ;  leastwa}*s, 
unless  there  turns  out  to  be  short  commons  in  the  ship. 
Then  I'll  croak,  an'  no  mistake.  But  I  say,  old  boys, 
how  'bout  the  grog?  Reg'lar  allowance,  I  hope  — 
three  tots  a  day?" 

"  Na  —  na  —  na  —  na — na  —  boof!  Ta  —  ta  — 
ta— -  fuff!" 

"  No,  011I3-  two,  3'e  say !  Ah !  that  won't  do  for  me. 
.For  ye  see,  shipmates,  —  I  s'pose  I  shall  be  callin'  ye 
so,  —  'board  the  old  '  Crusader,  'I've  been  'customed 
to  have  my  rum  reg'lar  three  times  the  da3T ;  an'  if  it 
ain't  same  on  this  here  craft  in  the  which  I'm  'bout  to 
ship,  then,  shiver  my  spars  !  if  I  don't  raife  sun  a 
nirapus  as  "  — 


214  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

' *  Kurra  —  kurra  —  cr  —  cro  —  croak  !  Na  —  na- 
na —  boof  —  ta  —  ta  —  pf  —  pf  —  piff !  " 

The  sailor's  voice  is  drowned  b}T  the  gibbering  of  tl  a 
orangs ;  his  gesture  of  mock-menace,  with  the  semi- 
serious  look  that  accompanied  it,  having  part  fright- 
ened, part  enraged  them.  The  fracas  continues,  until 
the  darky  returns  on  deck,  followed  by  the  skipper ; 
when  the  cook  takes  charge  of  the  quadrumana,  draw- 
ing them  off  to  his  caboose. 

Capt.  Lan tanas,  addressing  himself  to  the  sailor, 
asks,  "  Un  marinero?"     ("  A  seaman?  ") 

"Si,  capitan."     ("Yes,  captain.") 

1  l  Que  negocio  tienes  V.  commigo  f"  (  "  What  is  your 
tusiness  with  me?") 

"  "Well,  capten,"  responds  Harry  Blew,  speaking 
the  language  of  the  Chilian  in  a  tolerabty  intelligible 
patois,  "  I've  come  to  offer  my  services  to  3-ou.  I've 
brought  this  bit  of  paper  from  Master  Silvestre :  it 
will  explain  things  better  than  I  can." 

The  captain  takes  the  note  handed  to  him,  and 
breaks  open  the  envelope.  A  smile  irradiates  his 
sallow  face  as  he  becomes  acquainted  with  its  con- 
tents. 

' '  At  last  a  sailor !  "  he  mutters  to  himself ;  foi 
Harry  is  the  only  one  who  has  yet  offered.  "  And  a 
good  one  too,"  thinks  Capt.  Lantanas,  bending  his 
eyes  on  the  ex-man-o'-war's-man,  and  scanning  him 
from  head  to  foot.  But,  besides  personal  inspection, 
he  has  other  assurance  of  the  good  qualities  of  the 
man  before  him ;  at  a  late  hour  on  the  night  before,. 
he  held  communication  with  Don  Gregorio,  who  has 
recommended  him.  The  haciendado  had  reported 
what  Crozier  said,  —  that  Harry  Blew  was  an  able  sea- 
man  thoroughly  trustworthy,  and  competent  to  take 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  215 

charge  of  a  ship,  either  as  first  or  second  officer.  With 
Crozier's  indorsement  thus  vicariously  conveyed,  the 
ex-man-o'-war's-man  has  no  need  to  say  a  word  foi 
himself.  Nor  does  Capt.  Lantanas  call  for  it.  He 
only  puts  some  professional  questions,  less  inquisito- 
rial^ than  as  a  matter  of  form.  He  speaks  now  in 
English. 

"  The  Seiior  Silvestre  advises  me  that  3*ou  wish  to 
serve  in  nry  ship.     Can  you  take  a  lunar?" 

"  Well,  capten,  I  hev  squinted  through  a  quadrant 
afore  now,  an'  can  take  a  sight ;  tho'  I  arn't  much  up 
to  loonars.  But,  if  there's  a  good  chronometer  aboard, 
I  won't  let  a  ship  run  very  far  out  o'  her  reck'nin'." 

"  You  can  keep  a  log-book,  I  suppose?  " 

" 1  dar  say  I  can.  I've  lamed  to  write  so'st  might 
be  read  ;  tho'  my  fist  an't  much  to  be  bragged  about." 

"That  will  do,"  rejoins  the  skipper  contentedly. 
"Now,  Senor  Enrique,  —  I  see  that's  3-our  name, — 
answer  me  in  all  candor.  Do  3-011  think  3'ou  are  capa- 
ble of  acting  as  piloto?  " 

"  B3-  that  3*ou  mean  mate,  I  take  it?  " 

"  Yes  :  it  is  piloto  in  Spanish." 

"Well,  capten,  'tain't  for  me  to  talk  big  o'  rnyself. 
But  I've  been  over  thirty-  3-ear  'board  a  British  man-o'- 
war,  —  more'n  one  o'  'em,  — an'  if  I  wan't  able  to  go 
mate  in  a  merchanter,  I  ought  to  be  condemned  to  be 
cook's  scullion  for  the  rest  o'  my  da3~s.  If  your  honor 
thinks  me  wortlry  o'  bein'  made  first  officer  o'  the 
4  Condor,'  I'll  answer  for  it  she  won't  stra3T  far  out  o' 
her  course  while  1113'  watch  is  on." 

"  Enough,  Sehor  Enrique  B  —  blee.  What  is  it?  " 
asks  the  Chilian,  re-opening  the  note,  and  vainly  endeav- 
oring to  pronounce  the  Saxon  surname. 

"  Blew,  Harry  Blew." 


216  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

44  All,  Bloo—  azul,  esta  ?" 

"  No,  capten.  Not  that  sort  o'  blue.  In  Spanish 
my  name  has  a  cliff  rent  significance.  It  means  as  wc 
say  of  a  gale  after  it's  Mowed  past,  —  it  '  blew.' 
When  it's  been  a  big  un,  we  say  it  '  blew  great  guns.: 
Now  ye  understand? " 

"  Yes,  perfectly.  Well,  Sefior  Blew,  to  come  to  an 
understanding  about  the  other  matter.  I'm  willing  to 
take  3-011  as  my  first  officer,  if  3-011  don't  object  to  the 
wages  I  intend  offering  you, — fifty  dollars  a  month, 
and  every  thing  found." 

44  I'm  agreeable  to  the  tarms." 

44  Basta!  When  will  it  be  convenient  for  3-011  to 
enter  on  3-0111*  duties  ?  ' ' 

44  For  that  matter,  this  minute.  I  01113- need  to  go 
ashore  to  get  1113-  kit.  When  that's  stowed,  I'll  be 
ready  to  tackle  to  work." 

44  Bueno,  seTior :  3-011  can  take  my  boat  for  it.  And, 
if  3-011  see  any  sailors  who  want  to  join,  I  authorize 
you  to  engage  them  at  double  the  usual  wages.  I  want 
to  get  away  as  soon  as  a  crew  can  be  shipped.  But, 
when  3-011  come  back,  we'll  talk  more  about  it.  Call 
at  Sefior  Silvester's  office,  and  tell  him  he  needn't  look 
for  me  till  a  later  hour.  Say  I've  some  business  that 
detains  me  aboard  the  ship.     Hasta  Luego!  " 

Thus  courteously  concluding,  the  Chilian  skippei 
returns  to  his  cabin,  leaving  the  newly  appoin ted  pilvto 
free  for  his  own  affairs. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  217 


CHAPTER    XXVin. 

TIIE     BLUE-PETER. 

Tf^HE  ex-man-O'-war's-man,  now  first  mate  of  a 
JL  merchant-ship,  and  provided  with  a  boat  of  his 
own,  orders  off  the  skiff  he  has  kept  in  waiting,  after 
tossing  into  it  two  dollars,  —  the  demanded  fare ; 
then,  slipping  down  into  the  "  Condor's  "  gig,  sculls 
himself  ashore.  Leaving  his  boat  at  the  pier,  he  first 
goes  to  the  office  of  the  ship-agent,  and  delivers  the 
message  intrusted  to  him ;  then,  contracting  with  a 
truckman,  he  proceeds  to  the  Sailor's  Home,  "re- 
lieves "  his  impedimenta,  and  starts  back  to  embark 
them  in  his  boat,  but  not  before  giving  the  bar-keeper, 
as  also  the  Boniface,  of  that  inhospitable  establish- 
ment, a  bit  of  his  mind.  Spreading  before  their  eyes 
the  crisp  hundred-pound-note,  which  as  yet  he  has  not 
needed  to  break,  he  saj-s  tauntingly,  "Take  a  squint 
at  that,  }^e  land-lubbers !  There's  British  money  for 
ye!  An',  tho'  't  be  but  a  bit  o'  paper,  worth  more 
than  your  gold-dross,  dollar  for  dollar.  How'd  ye 
like  to  lay  your  ugly  claws  on't?  Ah!  you're  a  pair 
of  the  most  gentlemanly  shore-sharks  I've  met  in  all 
my  cruzins,  but  —  ye' 11  never  have  Harry  Blew  in  your 
grups  again."  Saying  this,  he  thrusts  the  bank-note 
into  his  pocket ;  then,  pacing  them  a  last  reverence 
with  mock  politeness,  he  starts  after  the  truckman, 
alread}T  en  route  with  his  kit.  , 

In  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  Capt.  Lantanas, 
Id 


218  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTKESS. 

he  slays  a  litti3  longer  in  the  town,  trying  to  pick  up 
sailors.  There  are  plenty  of  these  sauntering  along 
the  streets,  and  lounging  at  the  doors  of  drinking- 
saloons.  But  even  double  wages  will  not  tempt  theui 
to  abandon  their  free-and-easy  life;  and  the  "Con- 
dor's "  first  officer  is  forced  to  the  conclusion  he  must 
return  to  the  ship  solus.  Assisted  by  the  truckman, 
he  gets  his  traps  into  the  gig,  and  is  about  to  step  in 
himself,  when  his  eye  chances  to  turn  upon  the 
"  Crusader."    There  he  sees  something  to  surprise  him, 

-  the  Blue-Peter !  The  frigate  has  out  signals  fo! 
.  ailing.  He  wonders  at  this :  there  was  no  word  of 
(t  when  he  was  aboard.     He  knew,  as  all  the  others, 

■hat  she  was  to  sail  soon :  it  might  be  in  a  da}r  or 
two,  but  not,  as  the  signal  indicates,  within  the  hour 
or  two.  While  conjecturing  the  cause  of  such  hasty 
departure,  he  sees  something  that  partly  explains  it. 
Three  or  four  cables'  length  from  the  "  Crusader"  is 
another  ship,  over  whose  taffrail  floats  the  flag  of 
England.  At  a  glance  the  old  man-o'-war's-man  can 
tell  she  is  a  corvette  ;  at  the  same  time  recalling  what, 
the  night  before,  he  has  heard  upon  the  frigate, — that 
the  coming  of  the  corvette  will  be  the  signal  for  the 
"Crusader"  to  sail.  While  his  heart  warms  to  the 
flag  thus  cloub]}"  displayed  in  the  harbor  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, it  is  a  little  saddened  to  see  the  other  signal,  — 
{he  Blue-Peter ;  for  it  tells  him  he  may  not  have  an 
opportunity  to  take  a  more  formal  leave  of  his  friends 
on  the  frigate,  which  he  designed  doing.  He  longs  to 
make  known  to  Mr.  Crozier  the  result  of  his  applica- 
tion to  the  captain  of  the  Chilian  ship,  to  receive  the 
congi  atulations  of  the  young  officers  on  h!s  success. 
But  now  it  may  be  impossible  to  communicate  with 
tnem,  the  "Crusader"  so  soon  leaving  port.     He  baa 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  219 

half  a  mind  to  put  off  for  the  frigate  in  the  ' '  Condor's ' ' 
gig,  into  whicb  he  hag  got.  But  Capt.  Lantanas  might, 
deanwhile,  be  wanting  both  him  and  the  boat. 

All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  his  irresolution,  he  sees 
that  which  promises  to  help  him  out  of  the  dilemma,  — 
a  small  boat  putting  off  from  the  frigate's  sides,  and 
heading  right  for  the  pier.  As  it  draws  nearer,  he 
can  tell  it  to  be  the  dingy.  There  are  three  men  in  it, 
—  two  rowers  and  a  steersman.  As  it  approaches  the 
pier-head,  Harry  recognizes  the  one  in  the  stern-sheets, 
whose  bright,  ruddy  face  is  towards  him.  "  Thank  the 
Lord  for  such  good-luck!"  he  mutters.  "It's  Mr. 
Cadwallader !  " 

B3'  this  the  dingy  has  drawn  near  enough  for  the 
midshipman  to  see  and  identify  him ;  which  he  does, 
exclaiming  in  joyful  surprise,  "  By  Jove !  it's  Blew 
himself!  Halloo,  there,  Harry !  You're  just  the  man 
I'm  coming  ashore  to  see.  Hold,  starboard  oar! 
Port  oar,  a  stroke  or  two.     Way  enough  !  " 

In  a  few  seconds  the  dingy  is  bow  on  to  the  gig ; 
when  Harry,  seizing  hold  of  it,  brings  the  two  boata 
side  by  side,  and  steadies  them. 

"  Glad  to  see  ye  again,  Master  Willie.  I'd  just 
sighted  the  '  Crusader's '  signal  for  sailin',  an'  despaired. 
o'  havin'  the  chance  to  say  a  last  word  to  yourself  or 
Mr.  Crozier." 

"  Well,  old  boy,  it's  about  that  I've  come  ashore . 
Jump  out,  and  walk  with  me  a  bit  along  the  wharf.'7 

The  sailor  drops  his  oar,  and  springs  out  upon  the 
pier  ;  the  young  officer  preceding  him.  When  suffi- 
ciently distant  from  the  boats  to  be  beyond  earshot  of 
the  oarsmen,  Cadwallader  resumes  speech:  "  Harry, 
here's  a  letter  from  Mr.  Crozier.  He  wants  you  to 
deliver  it  at  the  address  you  11  find  written  upon  it, 


220  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

To  save  you  the  necessity  of  inquiring,  I  can  point 
out  the  place  it's  to  go  to.  Look  alongshore.  You 
see  a  house  }*onder  on  the  top  of  the  hill?  " 

"  Sartinly  I  see  it,  Master  Willie,  and  know  who 
.ires  in  it,  — two  o'  the  sweetest  creaturs  in  all  Cali- 
forney.     I  s'pose  the  letter  be  for  one  o'  them." 

"  No,  it  isn't,  you  dog!  for  neither  of  them.  Read 
(he  superscription.  You  see,  it's  addressed  to  a  gen- 
tleman ?" 

"Oh!  it's  for  the  guv'nor  his-self,"  rejoins  Harry, 
taking  the  letter,  and  running  his  e}-e  over  the  direc- 
tion, —  Don  Gregorio  Montijo.  "  All  right,  sir.  I'll 
pnt  it  in  the  old  gentleman's  flippers  safe  an'  sure. 
Do  3'ou  want  me  to  go  with  it  now,  sir?  " 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  you  conveniently  can ;  though 
there's  no  need  for  helter-skelter  haste,  since  there 
wouldn't  be  time  for  an  answer  anyhow.  In  twenty 
minutes  '  the  Crusader '  will  weigh  anchor,  and  be  off. 
I've  hurried  ashore  to  see  you,  hoping  to  find  3*011  at  the 
ship-agent's  office.  How  fortunate  my  stumbling  on 
you  here !  for  now  I  can  better  tell  3'ou  what's  wanted. 
In  that  letter,  there's  something  that  concerns  Mr. 
Crozier  and  myself,  —  matters  of  importance  to  us 
both.  When  }T>u've  given  it  to  Don  Gregorio,  he'll  no 
doubt  ask  you  some  questions  about  what  happened 
last  night.  Tell  him  all  jtou  know,  except  that  3rou 
needn't  sa3T  aity  thing  of  Mr.  Crozier  and  myself  having 
taken  a  little  too  much  champagne,  which  we  did. 
You  understand,  old  I303'?  " 

"Parfitly,  Master  Will." 

"Good!  Now,  Harry,  I  haven't  another  moment 
to  sta3r.  See  !  The  ship's  beginning  to  show  canvas. 
If  I  don't  get  back  directly,  I  may  be  left  here  in 
California,  never  to  rise  above  the  lank  of  reefer.     Oh  1 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  221 

by  the  way,  you'll  be  pleased  to  know  that  3-our  friend 
Mr.  Crozier  is  now  a  lieutenant.  His  commission 
arrived  03*  the  corvette  that  came  in  last  night.  He 
told  me  to  tell  3-ou,  and  I'd  nearly  forgotten  it." 

"I'm  gled  to  hear  it,"  rejoins  the  sailor,  raising 
the  hat  from  his  head,  and  giving  a  subdued  cheer,  — 
"  right  gled;  an'  inaybe  he'll  be  the  same,  hearin' 
Harry  Blew's  been  also  purmoted.  I'm  now  first 
mate  o'  the  Chilian  ship,  Master  Willie." 

"Hurrah!  I  congratulate  you  on  3'our  good  luck. 
I'm  delighted  to  hear  of  it ;  and  so  will  he  be.  We 
may  hope  some  day  to  see  3-011  a  full-fledged  skipper, 
commanding  3-our  own  craft.  Now,  you  dear  old  salt, 
don't  forget  to  look  well  after  the  girls.  Again  good- 
03-,  and  God  bless  3-011!  "  A  squeeze  of  hands,  with 
fingers  intwined  tight  as  a  reef-knot,  then  relaxed 
with  reluctance  ;  after  which  the3'  separate. 

The  mid,  jumping  into  the  ding3~,  is  rowed  back 
towards  the  "Crusader;"  while  Harry  re-hires  the 
truckman,  but  now  only  to  sta3T  b3r  and  take  care  of 
his  boat  till  he  can  return  to  it,  after  executing  the 
errand  intrusted  to  him.  Snug  as  kis  new  berth 
promises  to  be,  he  would  rather  lose  it  than  fail  to 
deliver  that  letter.  And,  in  ten  minutes  after,  he  has 
passed  through  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  and  is  hasten- 
ing along  the  shore-road,  towards  the  house  of  Don 
Gregorio  Montijo. 

19* 


222  THh:   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

DREADING     A     DUEL 

ONCE  more  upon  the  housetop  stand  Carmen 
Montijo  and  Inez  Alvarez.  It  is  the  morning 
of  the  day  succeeding  that  made  sacred  by  their 
betrothal.  Their  eyes  are  upon  the  huge  war-ship 
that  holds  the  men  who  hold  their  hearts,  with  promise 
of  their  hands,  in  short,  every  hope  of  their  life's 
happiness.  They  could  be  happy  now,  but  for  an 
apprehension  that  oppresses  them,  causing  them  keen 
anxiety.  Yesterday,  with  its  scenes  of  pleasurable 
excitement,  had  also  its  incidents  of  the  opposite 
kind,  the  remembrance  of  which  too  vividly  remains, 
and  is  not  to  be  got  rid  of.  The  encounter  between 
the  gamblers  and  their  lovers  cannot  end  with  that 
episode  to  which  they  were  themselves  witness.  Some- 
thing more  will  surety  come  from  it.  What  will  this 
something  be?  What  should  it?  What  could  it,  but 
a  desafio,  —  a  duel? 

However  brave  on  3Tester-morn  the  two  senoritas 
were,  however  apparently  regardless  of  consequences, 
it  is  different  to-day.  The  circumstances  have  some- 
what changed.  Then  their  sweethearts  were  only 
suitois.  Now  the}7  are  affianced,  still  standing  in  the 
relationship  of  lovers,,  but  with  ties  more  firmly  united. 
The  3'oung  Englishmen  are  now  their  own.  Inez  is 
less  anxious  than  her  aunt,  having  less  cause  to  be. 
With    jlie  observant  intelligence  of  wo'nau,  she   haa 


A    STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH    SEA.  223 

long  since  seen  that  Calcleron  is  a  coward,  and  for  this 
reason  has  but  little  belief  he  will  fight.  With  instinct 
equally  keen,  Carmen  knows  De  Lara  will.  After  his 
terrible  humiliation,  he  is  not  the  man  to  shrink  away 
out  of  sight.  Blackleg  though  he  be,  he  possesses 
courage,  perhaps  the  only  quality  he  has  deserving 
of  admiration.  Once  she  herself  admired  the  quality, 
if  not  the  man.  That  remembrance  itself  makes  her 
fear  what  may  come.  She  speaks  in  serious  tone,  dis- 
cussing with  her  niece  the  probabilities  of  what  may 
arise.  The  delirious  joy  of  yester-eve  —  of  that  hour 
when  she  sat  in  her  saddle,  looking  over  the  ocean, 
and  listening  to  the  sweet  words  of  love  —  is  to-day 
succeeded  by  depression,  almost  despondency.  While 
conversing,  they  have  their  eyes  upon  the  ba}T,  watch- 
ing the  boats,  that  at  intervals  are  seen  to  put  off 
from  the  war-ship,  fearing  "to  recognize  in  them  the 
forms  of  those  so  dear.  Fearing  it ;  for  they  know 
that  the  young  officers  are  not  likely  to  be  ashore 
again ;  and  their  coming  now  could  only  be  on  that 
errand  the}',  the  senoritas,  so  much  dread,  —  the  duel. 
Duty  should  keep  them  both  on  their  ship  ;  but  honor 
may  require  them  once  more  to  visit  the  shore,  per- 
haps never  more  to  leave  it  alive. 

Thus  gloomily  reflects  Carmen,  imparting  her  fears 
to  the  less  frightened  Inez  ;  though  she,  too,  is  not 
without  some  apprehension.  If  they  but  understood 
the  code  of  signals,  all  this  miseiy  would  be  spared 
them  ;  for  on  the  frigate's  main-royal-mast  head  floats 
a  blue  flag,  with  a  white  square  in  its  centre,  which  is  3 
poitent  that  she  will  soon  spread  her  sails,  and  glide 
off  out  of  sight,  carrying  their  amantes  beyond  all 
danger  of  duels,  or  shore-scrapes  of  any  kind.  They 
eee    the  Blue-Peter,  lut  without  knowing    aught  of 


224  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

its  significance.  They  do  not  even  try  to  interpret  or 
think  of  it ;  their  thoughts,  as  their  e}Tes,  being  busy 
with  the  boats  that  pass  between  ship  and  shore.  One 
at  length  arrests  their  attention,  and  keeps  it  for  some 
time  fixed,  —  a  small  craft,  that,  leaving  the  ship,  is 
steered  direct  for  the  town.  It  passes  near  enough  for 
them  to  see  that  there  are  three  men  in  it,  two  of  them 
rowing,  the  other  in  the  stern  ;  the  last  in  the  uniform 
of  an  officer.  Love's  glance  is  keen  ;  and  this,  aided 
by  an  opera-glass,  enables  Inez  Alvarez  to  identify  the 
officer  in  the  stern-sheets  as  her  own  Don  Gulielmo. 
This  does  not  alarm  the  ladies  so  much  as  if  the  steers- 
man had  been  Crozier.  But  he  is  not.  The  other  two, 
the  oarsmen,  are  only  sailors  in  blue  serge  shirts,  with 
wide  collars  falling  far  back.  For  what  the  }'Oung 
officer  is  being  rowed  ashore,  they  cannot  guess.  If 
for  fighting,  the^y  know  that  another  and  older  officer 
would  be  with  him.  Where  is  Eduardo  ?  While  still 
conjecturing,  the  boat  glides  on  towards  the  town,  and 
is  lost  to  their  view  behind  some  sand-hills  inshore. 
Their  glance  going  back  to  the  ship,  the}'  perceive  a 
change  in  her  aspect.  Her  tall,  tapering  masts,  with 
their  network  of  stays  and  shrouds,  are  half-hidden 
behind  broad  sheets  of  canvas.  The  frigate  is  unfurl- 
ing sail.  The}'  are  surprised  at  this,  not  expecting  it 
ao  soon.  With  the  help  of  their  glasses,  the}'  observe 
other  movements  going  on  aboard  the  war-vessel, — 
signal-flags  running  up  and  down  their  halyards,  while 
boats  are  being  hoisted  to  the  davits.  While  watching 
these  manoeuvres,  the  little  craft  whicn  carries  the  mid- 
shipman again  appears,  shooting  out  from  behind  the 
sand-hills,  and  being  rowed  rapidly  back  to  the  ship, 
the  young  officer  still  in  it.  On  reaching  the  great 
Leviathan,   for  a  short  time  it  shows  like  a  tiny  spot 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  225 

along  lier  water-line  ;  but,  soon  after,  it,  too,  is  lifted 
aloft,  and  over  the  bulwark-rail. 

Ignorant  as  the  young  ladies  ma}*  be  of  nautical 
matters,  the}*  can  have  no  doubt  as  to  what  all  this 
manoeuvring  means.  The  ship  is  about  to  sail.  As 
this  is  an  event  which  interests  all  the  family,  Don 
Gregorio,  summoned  to  the  housetop,  soon  stands 
beside  ihem. 

•'She's  going  off,  sure  enough!  "  he  remarks,  after 
sighting  through  one  of  the  glasses.  "It's  rather 
strange,  so  abruptly,"  he  adds.  "Our  young  friends 
said  nothing  about  it  last  night." 

"  I  think  the}*  could  not  have  known  of  it  them- 
selves," says  Carmen. 

"  I'm  sure  they  couldn't,"  adds  Inez. 

"What  makes  you  sure,  nina?  "  asks  Don  Gre- 
gorio. 

"  Well  —  because,"  stammers  out  the  Andalusian,  a 
flush  starting  into  her  cheeks  —  -  *  because  they'd  have 
told  us.  They  said  they  didn't  expect  to  sail  for  a  day 
or  two,  anyhow." 

"Just  so.  But  you  see,  they're  setting  sail  now, 
evidently  intending  to  take  departure.  However,  1 
fancy  I  can  explain  it.  You  remember  they  spoke  of 
another  war-ship  they  expected  to  arrive.  Yonder  il 
As,  It  came  into  port  last  night,  and,  in  all  likelihood, 
tias  brought  orders  for  the  '  Crusader  '  to  sail  at  once. 
I  oily  wish  it  was  the  '  Condor !  '  I  sha'n't  sleep  soundly 
till  we're  safe  away  from"  — 

"See!"  interrupts  Carmen:  "is  not  that  a  sailor 
coming  this  way9  "  She  points  to  a  man  moving  along 
the  shore-road  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

"  I  think  so,"  responds  Don  Gregorio,  after  a  glance 
through  the  glass.  "He  appears  to  be  in  seaman'g 
dress." 


226  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

;t  Will  lie  be  coming  here?  " 

"  1  shouldn't  be  surprised,  probably  with  a  message 
from  our  young  friends.  It  may  be  the  man  they 
recommended  to  me." 

'■  That's  why  somebody  came  ashore  in  the  littla 
boat,"  whispers  Iilez  to  her  aunt.  "We'll  get  bllle- 
titas.  I  was  sure  the}r  wouldn't  go  away  without  leav- 
ing one  last  little  word." 

Inez'  speech  imparts  no  information ;  for  Carmen 
has  been  surmising  in  the  same  strain.  The  aunt 
replies  by  one  of  those  proverbs  in  which  the  Spanish 
tongue  is  so  rich  :  "  Silencio!  hay  Moros  en  la  costa." 
("  Silence  !  there  are  Moors  on  the  coast.") 

While  this  bit  of  by-play  is  being  carried  on,  the 
sailor  ascends  the  hill,  and  is  seen  entering  at  the  road- 
gate.  There  can  now  be  no  uncertainty  as  to  his  call- 
ing. The  blue  jacket,  broad  shirt-collar,  round-rib- 
boned hat,  and  bell-bottomed  trousers,  are  all  the 
unmistakable  toggery  of  a  tar.  Advancing  up  the 
avenue  in  a  rolling  gait,  with  an  occasional  tack  from 
side  to  side,  that  almost  fetches  him  up  among  the 
tnanzanitas,  he  at  length  reaches  the  front  of  tte  house. 
There  stopping,  and  looking  up  to  the  roof,  lie  salutes 
those  upon  it  b}r  removing  his  hat,  giving  a  back- 
scrape  with  his  foot,  and  a  pluck  at  one  of  his  brow 
locks. 

"  Que  quieres  F".,  senor?"  (u  What  is  your  business, 
sir?")  asks  the  haciendado,  speaking  down  to  him. 

Harry  Blew,  for  it  is  he,  replies  b}T  holding  out  a 
letter,  at  the  same  time  saying,  "  Your  honor,  I've 
brought  this  for  the  master  o'  the  house." 

"  I  am  he.  Go  in  through  that  door  you  see  below. 
I'll  come  down  to  you." 

Don  Gregorio  descends  the  escalera,  and,  meeting  tbo 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  227 

messenger  in  the  inner  court,  receives,  the  letter  ad- 
dressed to  him.     Breaking  it  open,  he  reads,  — 

Estimable  Senor,  —  Circumstances  have  arisen  that 
take  us  away  from  San  Francisco  sooner  than  we  ex- 
pected. The  corvette  that  came  into  port  last  night 
brought  orders  for  the  "  Crusader' '  to  sail  at  once; 
(hough  our  destination  is  the  same  as  already  known 
to  you,  —  the  Sandwich  Islands.  As  the  ship  is  about 
to  weigh  anchor,  I  have  barely  time  to  write  a  word  for 
irryself  and  Mr.  Cadwallader.  We  think  it  proper  to 
make  known  some  circumstances,  which  will,  no  doubt, 
cause  3'ou  surprise  as  well  as  ourselves.  Yesterday 
morning  we  met  at  your  house  two  gentlemen,  —  as 
courtes}'  would  then  have  required  me  to  call  them,  — 
by  name  Francisco  de  Lara  and  Faustino  Calderon. 
We  encountered  them  at  a  later  hour  of  the  da}T,  when 
an  occurrence  took  place  which  absolved  us  from  either 
thinking  of  them  as  gentlemen,  or  treating  them  as 
such.  And  still  later,  after  leaving  your  hospitable 
roof,  we,  for  the  third  time,  came  across  the  same  two 
individuals,  under  circumstances  showing  them  to  be 
professional  gamblers.  In  fact,  we  found  them  to  be 
the  proprietors  of  a  monte  bank  in  the  notorious  El 
Dorado,  one  of  them  engaged  in  dealing  the  cards.  A 
spirit  of  fun,  with  perhaps  a  spice  of  mischief,  led 
me  into  the  pla}T ;  and,  betting  largely.  I  succeeded  in 
breaking  the  bank.  After  that,  for  a  short  while,  we 
lost  sight  of  them ;  but  as  we  were  making  our  way 
to  the  wharf,  where  our  boat  was  to  meet  us,  we  had  a 
fourth  interview  with  the  "gentlemen,"  who  on  this 
occasion  appeared,  with  two  others,  in  the  character  of 
robbers  and  assassins.  That  they  did  not  succeed  in 
either  robbing;  or  murdering  us  is  due  to  tbe  brave 


228  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

fellow  who  will  bear  this  letter  to  3'ou,  —  the  sailor  of 
whom  I  spoke.  He  can  give  you  all  the  particulars  of 
the  last  and  latest  encounter  with  these  versatile  indi- 
viduals, who  claim  acquaintance  with  you.  You  may 
rely  on  his  truthfulness.     I  have  no  time  to  say  more. 

Hoping  to  see  you  in  Cadiz,  please  convey  parting 
compliments  to  the  senoritas —  from  Cadwallader  and 
3'ours  faithfully,  Edward  Crozier. 

The  letter  makes  a  painful  impression  on  the  min:l 
of  Don  Gregorio.  Not  that  he  is  much  surprised  at 
the  information  regarding  De  Lara  and  Calderon.  He 
has  heard  sinister  reports  concerning  them,  of  late  so 
loudly  spoken  that  he  had  determined  on  forbidding 
them  further  intercourse  with  his  family.  That  very 
da3*  he  has  been  displeased  on  learning  of  their  ill- 
timed  visit.  And  now  he  feels  chagrin  at  something 
like  a  reproach  conveyed  by  that  expression  in  Crozier's 
letter:  "These  versatile  individuals  who  claim  3-our 
acquaintance."  It  hurts  his  hidalgo  pride.  Thrust- 
ing the  epistle  into  his  pocket,  he  questions  its  bearer, 
taking  him  to  his  private  room,  as  also  into  his  confi- 
dence. The  sailor  gives  him  a  detailed  account  of  the 
attempt  at  murder,  so  fortunately  defeated,  afterwards 
making  known  other  matters  relating  to  himself,  and 
how  he  has  taken  service  on  the  Chilian  ship,  Don  Gre- 
gorio inquiring  particularly  about  this. 

Meanwhile,  the  young  ladies  have  descended  from 
the  azotea;  and  the  ex-man -o* -war' s-man  makes  their 
acquaintance.  The3*  assist  in  showing  him  hospitality, 
loading  him  with  pretty  presents,  and  knick-knacks  to 
be  carried  on  board  the  "  Condor,"  to  which  they  know 
he  now  belongs.  As  lie  is  about  to  depart,  they  nutter 
around  him,  speaking  pleasant  words,  as  if  they  ex- 


A  STOHY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  229 

pected  to  get  sorneth/  ig  in  return,  —  those  billetitas 
And  3-et  lie  goes  away  without  leaving  them  a  scrap. 
A  pang  of  disappointment,  almost  chagrin,  shoots 
through  the  soul  of  Carmen  as  she  sees  him  passing 
out  of  sight  •  and  similarly  afflicted  is  Inez,  both  re- 
flecting alike. 

Still  they  have  hope :  there  ma}-  be  something  en- 
closed for  them  in  that  letter  the}*  saw  Harry  holding 
up.  It  seemed  large  enough  to  contain  two  separate 
notes.  And,  if  not  these,  there  should  at  least  be  a 
postscript  with  special  reference  to  themselves.  Daugh- 
ters of  Eve,  they  are  not  long  before  approaching  the 
subject,  and  drawing  Don  Gregorio. 

Yes,  there  is  something  said  about  thorn  in  the 
letter.  He  reads  it,  "Parting  compliments  to  the 
seTioritas." 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    LAST    LOOK. 

UP  anchor !      The  order  rings  along  the  deck  of 
the  "Crusader;"   and   the  men  of  the   watch 
stand  by  the  windlass  to  execute  it. 

That  same  morning  Crozier  and  Cadwallader,  turn- 
ing out  of  their  cots,  heard  with  surprise  the  order  for 
sending  up  the  Blue- Peter,  as,  also,  that  the  ship  was 
lo  weigh  anchor  b}*  twelve  o'clock  noon.  Of  course, 
tiic}'  were  expecting  it,  but  not  so  soon.  However, 
the  ai  rival  of  the  corvette  explains  it ;  an  officer  from 
the  latter  vessel  having  already  come  on  board  the 
"  Crusader  "  with  despatches  from  the  flag-ship  of  the 
Pacific  squadron. 
20 


230  THE  FLAG    OF  DISTRESS. 

These  contain  orders  for  the  frigate  to  set  sail  foi 
thp  Sandwich  Islands  without  any  dela}-,  the  corvette 
to  replace  her  on  the  San  Francisco  station.  The 
despatch-bearer  has  also  brought  a  mail ;  and  the  "  Cru- 
sader's'' people  get  letters,  —  home- news,  welcome 
to  those  who  have  been  long  awa}-  from  their  native 
land;  for  the  frigate  has  been  three  years  cruising  in 
the  South  Sea.  Something  more  than  mere  news 
several  of  her  officers  receive.  In  large  envelopes 
addressed  to  them,  and  bearing  the  British  Admiralty 
seal,  are  documents  of  peculiar  interest,  commissions 
giving  them  promotion.  Among  the  rest,  one  reaches 
Crozier,  advancing  him  a  step  in  rank.  His  ability  as 
an  officer  has  been  reported  at  headquarters,  as,  also, 
his  gallant  conduct  in  having  saved  a  sailor's  life,  res- 
cued him  from  drowning,  — that  sailor  Harry  Blew.  In 
all  probability,  this  has  obtained  him  his  promotion  ; 
but,  whatever  the  cause,  he  will  leave  San  Francisco  a 
lieutenant. 

There  are  few  officers,  naval  or  military,  who  would 
not  feel  favored  and  joyous  at  such  an  event  in  their 
lives.  It  has  no  such  effect  upon  Edward  Crozier. 
On  the  contrary,  as  the  white  canvas  is  being  spread 
above  his  head,  there  is  a  black  shadow  upon  his  brow, 
while  that  of  Cadwallader  is  also  clouded.  It  is  not 
from  an}T  regret  at  leaving  California,  but  leaving  it 
under  circumstances  that  painfully  impress  them.  The 
occurrences  of  the  day  before,  but  more  those  of  the 
night,  have  revealed  a  state  of  things  that  suggest 
unpleasant  reflections,  esracially  to  Crozier.  He  can- 
not cast  out  of  his  mind  the  sinister  impression  made 
upon  it  by  the  discover}'  hat  Don  Francisco  de  Lara  — 
his  rival  for  the  hand  of  Carmen  Montijo  —  is  no  other 
than  the  na  torious  Frank  Lara,  of  whom  Le  had  fre- 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  2S1 

quently  heard, — the  keeper  of  a  month  table  in  the 
saloon  El  Dorado.  Now  he  knows  it ;  and  the  knowl- 
edge afflicts  him  to  the  laceration  of  his  heari.  No 
wonder  at  the  formality  of  that  letter  which  he  ad- 
dresses to  Don  Gregorio,  or  the  insinuation  conveyed 
by  it ;  nor  strange  the  cold  compliments  with  which 
it  was  concluded ;  far  stranger  had  they  been  warm. 
Among  other  unpleasant  thoughts  which  the  young 
officers  have,  on  being  so  soon  summoned  away,  is 
that  of  leaving  matters  unsettled  with  Messrs.  De  Lara 
and  Calderon.  Not  that  they  have  any  longer  either 
design  or  desire  to  stand  before  such  cut-throats  in  a 
duel,  nor  any  shame  in  shunning  it.  Their  last  en- 
counter with  the  scoundrels  would  absolve  them  from 
all  stigma  or  disgrace  in  refusing  to  fight  them,  even 
were  there  time  and  opportunity :  so  they  need  have 
no  fear  that  their  honor  will  suffer,  or  that  an}'  one  will 
apply  to  them  the  opprobrious  epithet,  Idche.  In- 
deed, the}7  have  not ;  and  their  only  regret  is  at  not 
being  able  to  spend  another  hour  in  San  Francisco,  in 
order  that  they  might  look  up  the  intending  assassins, 
and  give  them  into  the  custody  of  the  police.  But 
then  that  would  lead  to  a  difficulty  that  had  better  be 
avoided,  —  the  necessity  of  leaving  their  ship,  and  starv- 
ing to  prosecute  a  criminal  action  in  courts  where  the 
guilty  criminal  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  favored  as  the 
innocent  prosecutor.  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of;  and, 
long  before  the  "  Crusader's  "  anchor  is  lifted,  they 
cease  thinking  of  it. 

Crozier's  last  act  before  leaving  port  is  to  write  that 
letter  1o  Don  Gregorio;  Cadwallader's,  to  carry  it 
ashore,  and  deliver  it  to  Harry  Blew.  Then,  in  less 
than  twenty  minutes  after  the  midshipman  regains 
footing  on  the  frigate's  deck.,  the  order  is  issued  fo? 


282  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

her  sails  to  be  sheeted  home.  The  canvas  hanging  cor- 
rugated from  her  yards  is  drawn  taut,  the  anchor 
hauled  apeak  ;  and  the  huge  leviathan,  obedient  to  her 
helm,  held  in  strong  hands,  is  brought  round,  with  head 
towards  the  Golden  Gate.  The  wind  catches  Ler 
spread  sails,  bellies  them  out ;  and  in  five  minutes 
more,  with  the  British  flag  floating  proudly  over  her 
tafFrail,  she  passes  out  of  the  harbor,  leaving  many 
a  vessel  behind,  whose  captains,  for  the  want  of  a 
crew,  bewail  their  inability  to  follow  her. 

But  there  are  eyes  following  her  from  farther  off,  — 
beautiful  e}'es,  that  express  sadness  of  a  different  kind, 
and  from  a  different  cause.  Carmen  Montijo  and  Inez 
Alvarez  again  stand  upon  the  azotea,  glasses  in  hand. 
Instead,  there  should  have  been  kerchiefs  —  white  ker- 
chiefs—  waving  adieu.  And  there  would  have  been 
but  for  those  chilling  words,  "  Parting  compliments  to 
the  sehorkas."  Strange  last  words  for  lovers  !  Santis- 
sima  I  what  could  it  mean  ?  So  reflect  the}r  to  whom 
the}'  were  sent,  as  they  stand  in  saddened  attitude, 
watching  the  war-ship,  and  straining  their  ej'es  upon 
her,  till,  rounding  Telegraph  Hill,  she  disappears  from 
their  sight. 

Equally  sad  are  two  young  officers  on  the  departing 
ship.  They,  too,  stand  with  glasses  in  hand  levelled 
upon  the  house  of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo.  They  can 
sec,  as  once  before,  two  heads  over  the  parapet,  and, 
as  before,  recognize  them ;  but  not  as  before,  or  with 
the  same  feelings,  do  the}'  regard  them.  All  is  changed 
now,  eveiy  thing  doubtful  and  indefinite,  where  it  might 
be  supposed  every  thing  had  been  satisfactorily  arranged. 
But  it  has  not,  especially  in  the  estimation  of  Crozier, 
whose  dissatisfaction  is  shown  in  a  soliloquy  to  which 
he  gives  utterance,  as  Telegraph  Hill,  irterfering  with 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  233 

his  field   of  view,   causes   him   to  lay  aside  his  telu. 
scope. 

"  Carmen  Montijo !  "  he  exclaims,  crushing  the  tele- 
scope ljo  its  shortest,  and  returning  it  to  its  case.  "  To 
think  of  a  *  sport,'  a  common  gambler,  even  having 
acquaintance  with  her,  far  less  presuming  to  make 
love  to  her ! ' ' 

"More  than  gamblers,  both  of  them,"  adds  Cad- 
wallader  by  his  side.  "  Robbers,  murderers,  any  thing, 
if  they  only  had  the  chance. " 

"Ay,  true,  Will!  —  every  thing  vile  and  vulgar 
Don't  it  make  3'ou  mad  to  think  of  it?" 

"  No,  not  mad.  That  isn't  the  feeling  I  have,  but 
fear." 

"Fear!     Of  what?" 

- -  That  the  scoundrels  may  do  some  harm  to  our 
girls.  As  we  know  now,  they're  up  to  any  thing. 
Since  they  don't  stick  at  assassination,  they  won't  at 
abduction.  I  hope  3'our  letter  to  Don  Gregorio  may 
open  his  eyes  about  them,  and  put  him  on  his  guard. 
Inez  —  who's  to  protect  her?  I'd  give  all  I  have  111 
the  world  to  be  sure  of  her  getting  safely  embarked  in 
that  Chilian  ship.  Once  there,  dear  old  Harry  will  take 
care  of  her  —  of  them  both." 

Cad  wallader 's  words  seem  strangety  to  affect  his 
companion,  changing  the  expression  upon  his  counte- 
nance. It  is  still  shadowed ;  but  the  cloud  is  of  a 
different  kind.     From  anger,  it  has  a'tered  to  anxiety. 

"  You  Ye  struck  a  chord,  Will,  that,  while  not  sooth- 
ing the  old  pain,  gives  me  a  new  one.  I  wasn't  think- 
ing of  that :  my  thoughts  were  all  occupied  with  the 
other  trouble  —  3*011  understand  ? ' ' 

"I  do.  At  the  same  time,  I  think  3-011  make  too 
much  of  the  other  trouble,  as  you  term  it.     I  confess 

'20* 


234  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

it  troubles  me  too,  a  little,  though  peihaps  not  so 
much  as  it  does  you.  And,  luckity,  less,  the  more  I 
reflect  on  it.  After  all,  there  don't  seem  so  much  to 
be  bothered  about.  As  3-011  know,  Ned,  it's  a  common 
thing  among  Spanish  Americans  —  whose  customs  are 
altogether  unlike  our  own  —  to  have  gamblers  going 
into  their  best  societ}r.  Besides,  I  can  tell  3-011  some- 
thing that  ma3T  comfort  3-ou  a  little,  —  a  bit  of  informa- 
tion J  had  from  Inez  as  we  were  platicando  along  the 
road  on  our  ride.  It  was  natural  she  should  speak 
about  the  slvy-blue  fellow,  and  my  sticking  his  horse  in 
the  hip." 

"What  did  she  sa3'?"  asks  Crozier,  with  newly 
awakened  interest. 

"  That  he  was  a  gentleman  03-  birth,  but  falling  fast, 
and,  indeed,  quite  down." 

"  And  De  Lara  —  did  she  sa3T  aught  of  him?  " 

"  She  did  :  she  spoke  of  him  still  more  disparaging^, 
though  knowing  him  less.  She  said  he  had  been  intro- 
duced to  them  by  the  other,  and  the3^  were  accustomed 
to  meet  him  on  occasions.  But  of  late  the3T  had 
learned  more  of  him;  and,  learning  this,  her  aunt  — 
j-our  Carmen  —  had  become  very  desirous  of  cutting 
his  acquaintance,  as,  indeed,  all  of  them.  That  they 
intended  doing  it,  even  if  they  had  remained  in  Cali- 
fornia. But  now  —  now  that  the3'  were  leaving  it,  they 
did  not  like  to  humiliate  him  by  giving  hin  the  conge 
he  deserved." 

Crozier,  with  eyes  earnest^  fixed  upon  Cadwallader, 
has  listened  to  the  explanation.  At  its  close,  ho  cries 
out,  grasping  his  comrade's  hand,  "  Will,  3-011've  lifted 
a  load  from  my  heart.  I  now  see  daylight  where  all 
seemed  darkness,  and,  beholding  yonder  MU,  feel  the 
truth  of  Campbell's  splendid  lines,  — 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  235 

"  A  kiss  can  consecrate  the  ground 
Where  mated  hearts  are  mutual  bound : 
The  spot  where  love's  first  links  are  wound, 

That  ne'er  are  riven, 
Is  hallowed  down  to  earth's  profound, 

And  up  to  heaven." 

After  repeating  the  poet's  passionate  words,  Croziei 
stands  gazing  on  a  spot  so  consecrated  to  him,  —  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  where,  just  twenty-four  hours  ago, 
he  spoke  love's  last  appeal  to  Carmen  Montijo.  For 
the  "Crusader"  has  passed  out  through  the  Golden 
Gate,  and  is  now  beating  down  the  coast  of  the  Paci- 
fic. Cadwallader's  eyes,  with  equal  interest,  are  turned 
upon  the  same  spot ;  and  for  some  time  both  are  silent, 
absorbed  in  sweet  reflection,  recalling  all  that  occurred 
in  a  scene  whose  slightest  incident  neither  can  ever 
forget.  O11I3*  when  the  land  looms  low,  and  the  out- 
lines of  the  San  Bruno  Mountains  begin  to  blend  with 
the  purpling  sky,  does  shadow  again  loom  on  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  young  officers.  But  now  it  is  different, 
no  longer  expressing  chagrin,  nor  the  rancor  of  jeal- 
ousy, but  doubt,  apprehension,  fear,  for  the  dear  onea- 
left  behind.  Still  the  cloud  has  a  silver  lining;  and 
that  is  —  Har.y  Blew. 


236  THE  flLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 

A    SOLEMN     COMPACT. 

A  COTTAGE  of  the  old  Californian  kind,  is 
other  words,  a  rancho,  —  one  of  the  humblest  of 
these  humble  dwellings,  —  the  homes  of  the  Spanish 
American  poor.  It  is  a  mere  hut,  thatched  with  a 
species  of  seashore  grass  (the  "  broombent " ) ,  seen 
growing  in  the  medanos  (sand-dunes)  near  by ;  for  it 
is  by  the  sea,  or  within  sight  of  it,  itself  inconspicu- 
ous by  reason  uf  rugged  rocks  that  cluster  around,  and 
soar  up  behind,  forming  a  background  in  keeping  with 
the  rude  architectural  style  of  the  dwelling.  From  the 
land-side  it  is  approachable  by  devious  and  difficult 
paths,  only  known  to  a  few  intimate  friends  of  its 
owner. 

From  the  sea  equally  difficult ;  for  the  little  cove 
ieading  up  to  it  would  not  have  depth  sufficient  to  per- 
mit the  passage  of  a  boat,  but  for  a  tiny  stream  trickling 
seaward  which  has  furrowed  out  a  channel  in  the  sand. 
That  by  this  boats  can  enter  the  cove,  is  evident  from 
one  being  ~een  moored  near  its  inner  end,  in  front  of, 
and  not  far  from,  the  hovel.  As  it  is  a  craft  of  the 
kind  generally  used  by  California  fishermen,  more 
especially  those  who  hunt  the  fur-seal,  it  may  be 
deduced  that  the  owner  of  the  hut  is  a  seal -hunter. 

This  is  his  profession  reputedlv ;  though  there  are 
some  who  ascribe  to  him  callings  of  a  different  kind, 
among  others,  insinuating  that  he  occasionally  does 
business  as  a  contrabandista. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  237 

Whether  true  or  not,  Rafael  Rocas  —  for  he  is  the 
owner  of  the  hut  —  is  not  the  man  to  trouble  himself 
abcut  denying  it.  He  would  scarce  consider  smuggling 
an  aspersion  on  his  character ;  and  indeed,  under  old 
Mexican  administration,  it*  would  have  been  but  slight 
blame  or  shame  to  him,  and  not  such  a  great  deal, 
either,  under  the  new,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
but  perhaps  even  less.  Compared  wit  a  other  crimes 
then  rife  in  California,  contrabandism  might  almost  be 
reckoned  an  honest  calling. 

But  Rafael  Rocas  has  a  repute  for  doings  of  a  yet 
darker  kind.  With  those  slightly  acquainted  with  him, 
it  is  only  suspicion  ;  but  a  few  of  his  more  intimate 
associates  can  say  for  certain  that  he  is  not  disinclined 
to  a  stroke  either  of  road-robbeiy,  or  a  job  at  house- 
breaking ;  so  that,  if  times  have  changed  for  the  worse, 
ne  has  not  needed  an}'  change  to  keep  pace  with  them. 

It  is  the  day  on  which  the  "  Crusader"  sailed  from 
San  Francisco  Ba}",  and  he  is  in  his  hut ;  not  alone, 
but  in  the  company  of  three  men,  in  personal  appear- 
ance altogether  unlike  himself.  While  he  wears  the 
common  garb  of  a  Californian  fisherman,  —  loose  pea- 
coat  of  coarse  canvas,  rough  water-boots,  and  seal-skin 
cap, — they  are  attired  in  costly  stuffs,  —  cloaks  of 
finest  broadcloth,  jaquetas  of  rich  velvet,  and  calzoneras 
lashed  with  gold-lace,  and  gleaming  with  constellations 
of  buttons. 

Notwithstanding  the  showy  magnificence  of  his 
guests,  the  seal-hunter,  smuggler,  or  whatever  he  may 
be,  does  not  appear  to  treat  them  with  any  obsequious 
deference.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  engaged  with  them 
in  familiar  converse,  and  by  his  tone  and  gestures 
shows  that  he  feels  himself  quite  their  equal. 

Two  of  the  individuals  thus  oddly  consorting  ar« 


238  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

already  well  known  to  the  reader  ;  the  third  but  slightly. 
The  former  are  Francisco  de  Lara  and  Faustino  Calde- 
ron :  the  latter  is  Don  Manuel  Diaz,  famed  for  his 
fighting-cocks.  The  first  two  have  just  entered  under 
Itocas'  roof,  finding  the  cock- fighter  already  there,  as 
.De  Lara  predicted. 

After  welcoming  his  newly  arrived  guests  in  Spanish 
American  fashion,  placing  his  house  at  their  disposal, 
—  "  Mia  casa  a  la  disposition  de  Vms"  —  the  seal- 
hunter  has  set  before  them  a  bottle  of  his  best  liquor ; 
this  being  aguardiente  of  Tequila.  The}'  have  taken 
off  their  outer  apparel,  —  cloaks  and  hats,  —  and  are 
seated  around  a  small  deal  table,  the  only  one  the 
shanty  contains  ;  its  furniture  being  of  the  most  primi- 
tive kind. 

Some  conversation  of  a  desultory  nature  has  passed 
between  them,  and  they  have  now  entered  on  a  subject 
more  interesting  and  particular,  the  keynote  having 
been  struck  by  De  Lara.  lie  opens  by  asking  a  ques- 
tion, — 

44  Caballeros!  do  3-011  want  to  be  rich?  " 

All  three  laugh  while  simultaneously  answering, 
'   Carramba !    Yes . ' ' 

Diaz  adds,  "  I've  heard  many  an  idle  interrogatory, 
but  never,  in  all  my  life,  one  so  superfluous  as  yours ; 
not  even  when  there's  twentj-  to  one  offered  against  a 
staggering  cock." 

Rocas  inquires,  "What  do  ye  call  rich,  Don  Fran- 
cisco ? ' ' 

"  Well,"  responds  the  month  dealer,  "  say  sixty 
thousand  dollars.  I  suppose  you'd  consider  that  suffi- 
cient to  bestow  the  title  ?*' 

"Certainly;  not  only  the  title,  but  the  substantial 
and  real  thing.  If  I'd  only  the  half  of  it,  I  d  give  up 
chasing  seals." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  239 

"  And  I,  cock-fighting,"  put  in  Diaz;  "that  is,  so 
far  as  to  look  to  it  for  a  living ;  though  I  might  still 
fight  a  main  for  pastime's  sake.  With  sixty  thousand 
dollars  at  my  back,  I'd  go  for  being  a  grand  ganadero, 
like  friend  Faustino  here,  whose  horses  and  horned 
cattle  yield  him  such  a  handsome  income." 

The  other  three  laugh  at  this,  since  it  is  known  to 
all  of  them  that  the  ganadero  has  long  since  got  rid  of 
his  horses  and  horned  cattle. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  says  De  Lara,  after  this  bit  of 
preliminaiy  skirmishing,  "  I  can  promise  each  of  you 
the  sum  I  speak  of,  if  you're  willing  to  go  in  with  me 
in  a  little  affair  I've  fixed  upon.  Are  you  the  men  for 
it?" 

"  Your  second  question  is  more  sensible  than  the 
first,  though  equally  uncalled  for ;  at  least,  so  far  as 
concerns  me.  I'm  the  man  to  go  in  for  airy  thing 
which  promises  to  make  me  the  owner  of  sixty  thousand 
dollars." 

It  is  Diaz  who  thus  unconditionally  declares  himself. 
The  seal-hunter  indorses  it  by  a  declaration  of  like 
uaring  nature.  Calderon  simpty  nods  assent,  but  in  a 
knowing  manner.  He  is  supposed  to  be  alread}'  ac- 
quainted with  De  Lara's  design. 

"Now,  Don  Francisco,  let's  know  what  you're 
driving  at!"  demands  Diaz,  adding,  "Have  you 
struck  a  veta,  or  discovered  a  rich  placer?  If  so,  we're 
ready  for  either  rock-mining  or  pan-washing,  so  long 
as  the  labor's  not  too  hard.  Speak  out,  and  tell  us 
what  it  is.  The  thought  of  clutching  such  a  pretty 
prize  makes  a  man  impatient." 

"Well,  I'll  let  you  into  the  secret  so  far:  it  is  a 
veta,  a  grand  gold  mine,  but  one  that  will  need  neither 
wck-crushing  nor  mud- cradling.     The  gold  has  been 


240  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

already  gathsred,  and  lies  in  a  certain  place,  all  iu 
a  lump,  only  waiting  transport  to  some  other  place, 
which  we  ma}*  select  at  our  leisure." 

'-  Your  wards  sound  well,"  remarks  Den  Manuel. 

"  "Wonderful  well !  "  echoes  Rocas. 

11  Are  the}*  not  too  good  to  be  true?  "  asks  Diaz. 

"  No.  They're  true  as  good.  Not  a  bit  of  exag- 
geration, I  assure  you.  The  gold  011I3*  wants  to  be  got 
at,  and  then  to  be  taken." 

"  Ah!  There  may  be  some  difficulty  about  that?" 
rejoins  the  doubting  Diaz. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  finger  sixty  thousand  pesos , 
without  taking  the  trouble  to  stretch  out  your  hand?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I'm  not  so  unreasonable.  For  that  I'd  be 
willing  to  stretch  out  both  hands,  with  a  knife  in  one, 
and  a  pistol  in  the  other." 

"  Well,  it's  not  likely  to  need  either,  if  skilfully 
managed.  I  ask  you  again,  Are  you  the  men  to  go 
in  for  it?" 

"I'm  one,"  answered  Diaz. 

"  ^.nd  I  another,"  growls  Rocas,  whose  manner  tells 
that  he  alread}'  knows  what  the  month  dealer  means. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  say  no,"  assents  Calderon,  glan- 
cing sj-mpalhetically  at  the  questioner. 

"  Enough  !  says  De  Lara,  "  so  far  as  3*011  consent  to 
the  partnership.  But,  before  entering  fully  into  it,  i', 
will  be  necessar}*  to  have  a  more  thorough  understand- 
ing, as  also  a  more  formal  one.  Are  3*011  willing  to  be 
bound  that  there  shall  be  truth  between  us  ?  " 

""We  are!"  is  the  simultaneous  response  of  all 
three. 

"  And  fidelity  to  the  death?  " 

"To  the  death!  "  % 

"  Bueno!    But  we  must  take  an  oath  to  that  effect 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  241 

After  that,  you  shall  know  what  it's  for.  Enough  no\* 
to  say  it's  a  thing  that  needs  swearing  upon.  If  there's 
to  be  treason,  there  shall  be  perjury  also.  Are  you 
read}'  to  take  the  oath  ? ' ' 

The}'  signify  assent  unanimously. 

"  To  3'our  feet,  then  !  "  commands  the  chief  conspi- 
rator.    "  It  will  be  more  seemly  to  take  it  standing." 

All  four  spring  up  from  their  chairs,  and  stand  facing 
the  table.  De  Lara  draws  a  dagger,  and  lays  it  down 
before  him.  The  others  have  their  stilettos  too,  —  a 
weapon  carried  by  most  Spanish  Californians.  Each 
exhibits  his  own,  laying  it  beside  that  already  on  the 
table.  With  the  four  De  Lara  forms  a  cross, — Mal- 
tese fashion ;  and  then  standing  erect,  Diaz  opposite, 
Rocas  and  Calderon  on  either  flank  he  repeats  in  firm, 
solemn  voice,  the  others  after  him  :  — 

"  In  the  deed  ice  this  day  agree  to  do,  acting  together 
2nd  jointly,  we  swear  to  be  true  to  each  other ;  to  stand 
by  one  another,  if  need  be,  to  the  death;  to  keep  what 
we  do  a  secret  from  all  the  world:  and,  if  any  one  be- 
tray it,  the  other  three  swear  to  follow  him  icherever  he 
may  fee,  seek  him  icherever  he  may  shelter  himself,  and 
take  vengeance  upon  him  by  taking  his  life.  If  any  of 
is  fail  in  this  oath,  may  we  be  accursed  ever  after! " 

This  infamous  ceremony  duly  ratified,  a  drink  of  the 
lery  spirit  of  the  mezcal  plant  is  a  fit  finale;  which 
quaffed,  they  take  up  their  stilettos,  replace  them  in 
their  sheaths,  and,  again  sitting  down,  listen  to  De 
Lara,  to  learn  from  him  the  nature  of  that  deed  for 
doing  which  they  have  so  solemnly  compacted. 

In  a  short  time  he  makes  it  known  in  all  its  details  ; 
the  disclosure  calling  for  but  a  few  words.  It  is,  after 
all,  but  a  common  affair,  though  one  that  needs  skill 
and  courage.     It  is  simply  a  "  bit  of  burglary,"  but  a 

21 


242  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

big  thing  of  its  kind,  He  tells  them  of  between  two 
and  three  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gold-dust 
lying  in  a  lone  country-house,  with  no  other  protection 
than  that  of  its  owner,  —  a  feeble  old  man,  —  with 
some  half-score  of  Indian  domestics. 

There  are  but  two  of  them  to  whom  this  is  news,  — 
Diaz  and  Calderon.  Rocas  smiles  while  the  revelation 
is  being  made  ;  for  he  has  been  the  original  depositary 
of  the  secret.  It  was  that  he  communicated  to  De 
Lara,  when  on  the  day  before  he  stopped  him  and  Cal- 
deron at  the  tinacal  of  Dolores.  It  is  not  the  first 
time  for  the  seal-hunter  to  do  business  of  a  similar 
kind  in  conjunction  with  the  gambler,  who,  like  him- 
self, has  been  accustomed  to  vary  his  professional  pur- 
suits. But,  as  now,  he  has  always  acted  under  De 
Lara,  whose  clear,  cool  head  and  daring  hand  assure 
him  leadership  in  an}-  scheme  requiring  superior  intel- 
ligence for  its  execution. 

"  How  soon  ?  "  asks  Diaz,  after  all  has  been  declared. 
"  I  should  say,  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  You're  right  about  that,  Don  Manuel !  *'  rejurns 
Rocas. 

"True!"  assents  De  Lara.  "At  the  same  time, 
caution  must  not  be  lost  sight  of.  There's  two  of  you 
know  what  danger  we'd  be  in  if  we  went  near  the  town, 
or  anywhere  outside  this  snug  little  asylum  of  SeSor 
Rocas,  whose  hospitality  we  may  have  to  trench  upon 
for  some  time.  I  don't  know,  Don  Rafael,  whether 
friend  Diaz  has  told  3-ou  of  what  happened  last  night?" 

"He 'a  given  me  a  hint  of  it,"  gruffly  replies  the 
smuggler. ' ' 

"  Oh,  3*es  !  "  puts  in  Diaz.  "  I  thought  he  might  as 
well  know." 

"  Of  co  *rse  ?  '  agrees  De  Lara.    "  In  that  case,  then, 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  243 

I've  only  to  add,  that  there  will  be  no  salet}  for  us  in 
San  Francisco  so  long  as  the  English  man-o'-war  stays 
in  port.  He  -who  broke  our  bank  is  rich  enough  to  buy 
law,  and  can  set  its  hounds  after  us  03*  night  as  by 
day.     Until  he  and  his  ship  are  gone  "  — 

4 'The  ship  is  gone,"  says  Rocas,  interrupting. 

44  Ha  !     What  makes  3-0'u  say  that?  " 

44  Because  I  know  it." 

44  How?" 

44  Simply  by  having  seen  her.  Nothing  like  the  eyei 
to  give  one  assurance  about  any  thing  —  with  a  bit  of 
glass  to  assist  them.  Through  that  thing  up  there,"  — 
he  points  to  an  old  telescope  resting  on  hooks  against 
the  wall,  — 4i  I  saw  the  English  frigate  beating  out  by 
the  Farralones  when  I  was  up  on  the  cliff  about  an 
hour  ago.  I  knew  her  from  having  seen  her  lying  out 
in  the  baj\     She's  gone  to  sea,  for  sure." 

At  this  the  others  look  surprised,'  as  well  as  pleased, 
more  especially  Calderon.  He  need  no  longer  fear 
encountering  the  much-dreaded  midshipman,  either  in 
a  duel  or  with  his  dirk. 

44  It's  very  strange!"  says  De  Lara.  44I'd  heard 
the  4  Crusader '  was  to  sail  soon,  but  not  till  another 
ship  came  to  relieve  her." 

4' That  ship  has  come,"  returns  Rocas,  —  4' a  cor- 
vette. I  saw  her  working  up  the  coast  last  evening* 
just  before  sunset.  She  was  making  for  the  Gate,  and 
must  be  inside  now." 

44  If  all  this  be  true,"  says  the  chief  conspirator, 
"we  need  lose  no  more  time,  but  put  on  our  masks, 
and  bring  the  affair  off  at  once.  It's  too  late  for  doing 
any  thing  to-night ;  but  there's  no  reason  why  we 
shouldn't  act  to-morrow  night,  if  it  prove  a  dark  one. 
We  four  cf  us  will  be  strength  enough  for  such  a  tri 


244  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

fling  affair.  I  thought  of  bringing  Juan  Lopez,  our  crou- 
pier ;  but  I  saw  he  wouldn't  be  needed.  Besides,  from 
the  way  he's  been  behaving  lately,  I've  lost  confidence 
in  him.  .Another  reason  for  leaving  him  out  will  be 
understood  by  all  of  you.  In  a  matter  of  this  kind,  it 
isn't  the  more,  the  merrier ;  though  it  is  the  fewer, 
the  better  cheer.  The  yellow  dust  will  divide  bigger 
among  four  than  five." 

"  It  will !  "  exclaims  the  cock-fighter  with  emphasis, 
showing  his  satisfaction  at  what  De  Lara  has  done. 
He  adds,  "  To-morrow  night,  then,  we  are  to  act?  " 

"Yes,  if  it  be  a  dark  one.  If  not,  'twill  be  wiser 
to  let  things  lie  over  for  the  next.  A  day  can't  make 
much  difference,  while  the  color  of  the  night  may.  A 
moonlit  sky,  or  a  clear  starry  one,  might  get  us  all 
where  we'd  see  stars  without  an}' being  visible  —  with 
a  rope  round  our  necks." 

"  There'll  be  no  moon  to-morrow  night,"  puts  in  the 
e muggier,  who,  in  this  branch  of  his  varied  vocations, 
lias  been  accustomed  to  take  account  of  such  things ; 
"  at  least,"  he  adds,  "  none  that  will  do  us  an}'  harm. 
The  fog's  sure  to  be  on  before  midnight :  at  this  time 
of  year  it  always  is.  To-morrow  night  will  be  like 
the  last,' — black  as  a  pot  of  pitch." 

"True,"  says  De  Lara,  as  a  man  of  the  sea,  also 
having  some  slight  meteorological  knowledge.  "  No 
doubt  'twill  be  as  }'ou  say,  Rocas.  In  that  case  we 
have  nothing  to  fear.  We  can  have  the  job  done,  and 
be  back  here  before  morning.  Ah  !  then  seated  round 
this  table,  we'll  not  be  like  we  are  now,  poor  as  rats, 
but  even'  one  with  his  pile  before  him,  —  sixty  thou- 
sand pesos." 

"  Carramba! "  exclaims  Diaz  in  a  mocking  tone. 
"While  saying  vespers  to-night,  let's  put  m  a  special 


A   STOHY   OF   THE   SOUTH    SEA.  245 

prsyer  for  to-morrow  night  to  be  what  Rocas   says   it 
will,  —  black  as  a  pot  of  pitch." 

The  profane  suggestion  is  hailed  with  a  burst  of 
ribald  laughter ;  after  which,  they  set  about  preparing 
the  mascaras,  and  other  disguises,  to  be  used  in  theii 
nefarious  enterprise. 


CHAPTER   XXXIL 


AMBRE     LA     PUERTAI 


f  »» 


ANOTHER  sun  has  shone  upon  San  Francisco  Bay, 
and  gone  down  in  red  gleam  over  the  far-spread- 
ing Pacific,  leaving  the  sky  of  a  leaden  color,  moonless 
and  starless.  As  the  hour  of  midnight  approaches,  it 
assumes  the  hue  predicted  by  Rocas,  and  desired  by 
Diaz ;  for  the  ocean  fog  has  again  rolled  shoreward 
across  the  peninsula,  and  shrouds  San  Francisco  as 
with  a  pall.  The  adjacent  country  is  covered  with  its 
funereal  curtain,  embracing  within  its  folds  the  house 
of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo.  The  inmates  seem  all  asleep, 
as  at  this  hour  they  should  be.  No  light  is  seen  through 
Jthe  windows,  nor  any  sound  heard  within  the  walls ; 
not  even  the  bark  of  a  dog,  the  bellow  of  a  stalled  ox, 
or  the  stamping  of  a  horse  in  the  stables.  Inside,  a3 
without,  all  is  silence.  The  profound  silence  seems 
strange,  though  favorable  to  four  men  not  far  from  the 
house,  and  gradually,  but  with  slow  steps,  drawing 
nearer  to  it ;  for  they  are  approaching  by  stealth,  as 
can  be  told  by  their  attitudes  and  gestures.  They  ad- 
vance ciouchingly,  now  and  then  stopping  to  take  a 

21* 


246  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

survey  of  the  terrain  in  front,  as  they  do  so  cxchan 
ging  whispered  speech  with  one  another. 

Through  the  hazy  atmosphere,  their  figures  show 
weird-like  ;  all  the  more,  from  their  grotesque  gesticu- 
lation. Scrutinized  closely  and  in  a  clear  light,  they 
would  still  present  this  appearance ;  for  although  in 
human  shape,  and  wearing  the  garb  of  men,  their  faces 
more  resemble  those  of  demons.  The}-  are  huu.ar. 
countenances,  nevertheless,  but  craped,  enmascaradas. 
Nothing  more  is  needed  to  tell  who  and  what  they  are, 
with  their  purpose  in  thus  approaching  Don  Gregorio's 
dwelling.     They  are  burglars,  designing  to  break  it. 

It  needs  not  the  removal  of  their  masks  to  identify 
them  as  the  four  conspirators  left  plotting  in  the  ranclie 
of  Rafael  Rocas. 

They  are  now  en  route  for  putting  their  scheme  into 
execution. 

It  would  look  as  if  Don  Gregorio  were  never  to  get 
his  gold  to  Panama,  much  less  have  it  transported  to 
Spain. 

And  his  daughter  —  what  of  her,  with  Francisco  de 
Lara  drawing  nigh  as  one  of  the  nocturnal  ravagers? 
His  grand-daughter,  too  —  Faustino  Calderon  being 
another ! 

One  cognizant  of  the  existing  relations,  and  specta- 
tor of  what  is  passing  now,  seeing  the  craped  robbers 
as  they  steal  on  towards  the  house,  would  suppose  it 
in  danger  of  being  doubly  despoiled,  and  that  its  owner 
is  to  suffer  desolation  not  only  in  fortune,  but  in  that 
far  dearer  to  him,  —  his  family. 

The  burglars  are  approaching  from  the  front,  up  the 
avenue,  though  not  on  it.  The}-  keep  along  its  edge, 
among  the  munzanita  bushes.  These,  with  the  fog, 
atford  sufficient  screen  to  prevent  their  being  observed 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  247 

rrom  ike  house,  even  though  sentinels  were  set  upon  its 
azotea  But  there  appears  to  be  none,  —  no  eye  to  see, 
no  voice  co  give  warning,  not  even  the  bark  of  a  watch- 
dog to  wake  those  unconsciously  slumbering  within. 

As  already  said,  there  is  something  strange  in  this 
On  a  large  grazing-estate,  it  is  rare  for  the  Molossian 
to  be  silent.  More  usually,  his  sonorous  bay  is  heard 
sounding  throughout  the  night,  or  at  short  intervals. 
Though  any  thing  but  desirous  to  hear  the  barking  of 
dogs,  the  burglars  are,  nevertheless,  puzzled  at  the  uni- 
versal silence,  so  long  continued.  For,  before  entering 
the  enclosure,  the}'  have  been  lying  concealed  in  a 
thicket  outside,  their  horses  tied  to  the  trees  where  they 
have  left  them  ;  and  during  all  the  time  not  a  sound  hafs 
reached  them,  —  not  a  voice,  either  of  man  or  animal. 
The}'  are  now  within  sight  of  the  house,  its  massive 
front  looming  large  and  dark  through  the  mist :  still  no 
sound  outside,  and,  within,  the  stillness  of  death  itself. 

Along  with  astonishment,  a  sense  of  awe  is  felt  by 
one  of  the  four  criminals,  —  Calderon,  who  has  still 
some  lingering  reluctance  as  to  the  deed  about  to  be 
done,  or  it  may  be  but  fear.  The  other  three  are  too 
strong  in  courage,  and  too  hardened  .in  crime,  for 
scruples  of  any  kind. 

Arriving  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  dwelling,  they  stop  for  a  final  consul- 
tation, still  screened  by  a  clump  of  manzanitas.  All 
silent  as  ever ;  no  one  stirring  ;  no  light  from  any  win- 
dow ;  the  shutters  closed  behind  the  rejas,  —  the  great 
puerta,  as  well. 

"  Now  about  getting  inside,"  says  De  Lara.  "  What 
will  he  our  best  way?  " 

"In  my  opinion,"  answers  Diaz,  "  we'll  do  best  bj 
climbing  up  to  the  azotea,  and  over  it  into  the  patio-*' 


248  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Where's  your  ladder?"  asks  Rocas  in  his  gruff, 
olimt  way. 

"We  must  find  one  —  or  something  that'll  stive 
instead.  There  should  be  loose  timber  lying  about 
the  corrals,  enough  to  provide  us  with  a  climbing- 
pole." 

"  And,  while  searching  for  it,  wake  up  some  of  the 
vaqueros.     That  won't  do." 

"  Then  what  do  you  propose,  Rafael?  "  interrogates 
De  Lara. 

The  seal-hunter,  with  his  presumed  experience  in 
housebreaking,  is  listened  to  with  attention. 

"Walk  straight  up  to  the  door,"  he  answers,  "knock, 
:*nd  ask  to  be  admitted." 

"Ay!  and  have  a  blunderbuss  fired  at  us,  with  a 
shower  of  bullets  big  as  billiard-balls.  Carrai!"  It 
is  Calderon  who  speaks  thus  apprehensively. 

"Not  the  least  danger  of  that!"  rejoins  Rocas. 
"  Take  my  word,  we'll  be  let  in." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"Why?  Because  we  have  a  claim  on  the  hospitality 
of  the  house." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Rocas,"  says  De  Lara. 

"  Haven't  we  a  good  story  to  tell,  simple,  and  tc  the 
purpose  ? ' ' 

"  Still  I  don't  understand.  Explain  yourself,  Rafael. ' 

"  Don't  we  come  as  messengers  from  the  man-of- 
war, —  from  those  officers  you've  been  telling  me 
about?" 

"  Ah  !  now  I  perceive  3'our  drift." 

"  One  can  so  announce  himself,  while  the  others 
keep  out  of  sight.  He  can  sa}7  he's  been  sent  by  the 
young  gentlemen  on  an  errand  to  Don  Gregorio,  or  the 
senoritas  if  }rou  like.     Something  of  importance  affect 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  249 

;ng  their  departure.  True,  by  this  they'll  k/.ow  the 
ship's  weighed  anchor.  No  matter:  the  stoiy  of  a 
message  will  staud  good  all  the  same." 

"  Rafael  Rocas,"  exclaims  "n*  Lara,  "you're  a  bora 
genius !  Instead  of  being  forced  to  do  a  little  smug- 
gling now  and  then,  you  ought  to  be  made  administra- 
tor-general of  customs.  We  shall  act  as  you  advise. 
No  doubt  the  door  will  be  opened.  When  it  is,  one 
can  take  charge  of  the  janitor.  He's  a  sexagenarian, 
and  won't  be  hard  to  hold.  If  he  struggle,  let  him  be 
silenced.  The  rest  of  us  can  go  ransacking.  You, 
Calderon,  are  acquainted  with  the  interior,  and,  as  3-011 
say,  know  the  room  where  Don  Gregorio  is  most  likely 
to  keep  his  chest.     You  must  lead  us  straight  for  that." 

"But,  Francisco,"  whispers  Calderon  in  the  ear  of 
his  confederate,  after  drawing  him  a  little  apart  from 
the  other  two,  "  about  the  7iinas?  You  don't  intend 
any  thing  with  them? 

"  Certainly  not,  not  to-night,  nor  in  this  fashion.  1 
hope  being  able  to  approach  them  in  gentler  guise,  and 
more  becoming  time.  When  they're  without  a  peso  in 
the  world,  they'll  be  less  proud,  and  may  be  contented 
to  stay  a  little  longer  in  California.  To-night  we've 
enough  on  our  hands  without  that.  One  thing  at  a 
time, — their  money  first,  themselves  afterwards." 

"  But  suppose  they  should  recognize  us?  " 

"  They  can't.  Disguised  as  we  are,  I  defy  a  manfs 
mother  to  know  him.     If  the}-  did,  then  "  — 

"Then  what?" 

"  No  use  reflecting  what.  Don't  be  so  scared,  man  ! 
If  I'd  anticipated  any  chance  of  its  coming  to  extremes 
of  the  kind  you're  thinking  about,  I  wouldn't  be  here 
prepared  for  onlv  half-measures.  Perhaps  we  sha'n't 
even  wake  the  ladies  up  ;  an.l,  if  we  do,  there's  not  tae 


250  TltE  FLAG   OF  LUSTRES  S. 

slightest  danger  of  our  being  known.  So  make  your 
mind  easy,  and  let's  get  through  with  it.  See  !  Diaz 
and  Rocas  are  getting  impatient.  We  must  rejoin  Ihem, 
and  proceed  to  business  at  once." 

The  four  housebreakers  again  set  their  heads  together, 
and  after  a  few  whispered  words,  to  complete  their 
plan  of  proceeding,  advance  towards  the  door.  Once 
up  to  it,  they  stand  close  in,  concealed  by  its  over- 
shadowing arch. 

With  the  butt  of  his  pistol,  De  Lara  knocks. 

Diaz,  unknown  to  the  family,  and  therefore  without 
fear  of  his  voice  being  recognized,  is  to  do  the  talking. 

No  one  answers  the  knock  ;  and  it  is  repeated,  louder 
and  still  louder.  "The  sexagenarian  janitor  sleeps 
soundly  to-night,"  thinks  De  Lara,  deeming  it  strange. 
Another  "  rat-at-ta  "  with  the  pistol-butt,  followed  by 
the  usual  formulary,  "  Ambre  la  puerta!"  ("Open 
the  door.")  At  length  comes  a  response  from  within, 
but  not  the  customary  "  Quen  es?  "  ("  Who's  there?  ") 
nor  an}*  thing  in  Spanish  On  the  contrary,  the  speech 
which  salutes  the  ears  of  those  seeking  admission  is  in 
a  different  tongue,  and  tone  altogether  unlike  that  of 
a  native  Californian. 

"  Who  the  old  scratch  are  ye?  "  asks  a  voice  from 
Inside  ;  while  a  heavy  footstep  is  heard  coming  along 
the  saugan.  Bf  °ore  the  startled  burglars  can  shape  a 
reply,  the  voice  continues,  "  Darn  ye  !  what  d'ye  want 
anyhow,  wakin'  a  fellur  out  o'  his  sleep  at  this  time  o' 
the  night?  'T  would  sarvc  3-e  right  if  I  sent  a  bullet 
through  the  door  at  ye.  Take  care  what  you're  about ! 
I've  got  nry  shootiu'-iron  handy,  an'  a  Colt's  revolver  it 
air." 

"  Por  Bios  I  What  dees  this  mean?"  mutters  Ds 
Lara. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  251 

"  Tell  him,  Diaz,"  he  adds  in  sotto  voce  to  the  cock- 
fighter,  —  "  tell  him  we're  from  the  British  man-of-war, 
with —  Carrai!  I  forgot:  you  don't  speak  English. 
I  must  do  it  myself.  He  won't  know  who  it  is. ' '  Then 
raising  his  voice,  "  We  want  to  see  Don  Gregorio 
M  mtijo.  We  bring  a  message  from  the  ship  '  Cru- 
sader,'—  from  the  two  officers." 

"  Consarn  the  ship  '  Croozader/  an'  yur  message, 
an'  yur  two  officers  :  I  know  nothin'  'bout  them.  *As 
for  Don  Gregorio,  if  ye  want  to  get  sight  on  him,  3-e're 
a  preeshus  way  wide  o'  the  mark.  He  arn't  here  any 
more.  He's  gin  up  the  house  yesterday,  an'  tuk  every 
thing  o'  hisn  out  o't.  I'm  only  here  in  charge  o'  the 
place.  Guess  you'll  find  both  the  Don  an'  his  darters 
at  the  Parker,  —  the  most  likeliest  place  to  tree  thet 
lot." 

Don  Gregorio  gone  !  —  his  gold,  his  girls  !  Only  an 
erupty  house,  in  charge  of  a  care-taker,  who  carries  a 
Colt's  repeating-pistol,  and  would  use  it  on  the  slightest 
provocation !  No  good  going  inside  now,  but  a  deal 
of  danger.  Any  thing  but  pleasant  medicine  would 
be  a  pill  from  that  six-shooter. 

Many  are  the  wild  exclamations  that  issue  from  the 
lips  of  the  disappointed  housebreakers  as  they  turn 
away  from  Don  Gregorio's  dismantled  dwelling,  and 
hasten  to  regain  their  horses. 


252  THE   FLAG   OF   PTSTRRSS. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A     SCRATCH    CREW. 

IT  was  a  fortunate  inspiration  that  led  the  ex-haeien* 
dado  to  have  his  gold  secretly  carried  on  board  the 
Chilian  ship  ;  another,  that  influenced  him  to  transfer 
his  family  and  household  gods  to  an  hotel  in  the  town. 

It  was  all  done  in  a  da}T,  —  that  same  day.  Every 
hour  after  the  sailing  of  the  "Crusader"  had  he 
become  more  anxious ;  for  every  hour  brought  intelli- 
gence of  some  new  act  of  outlawiy  in  the  neighborhood, 
impressing  him  with  the  insecurity,  not  only  of  his 
Penates,  but  of  the  lives  of  himself  and  the  young 
ladies.  So  long  as  the  British  ship  lay  in  port,  it 
seemed  a  protection  to  him ;  and,  although  this  may 
have  been  but  fanc}r,  it  served  somewhat  to  tranquillize 
his  fears.  Soon  as  she  was  gone,  he  gave  way  to  them, 
summoned  Silvestre,  with  a  numerous  retinue  of  carga- 
dores,  and  swept  the  house  clean  of  eveiy  thing  he 
intended  taking;  the  furniture  alone  being  left  as 
part  of  the  purchased  effects.  It  is  a  company  of 
speculators  to  whom  he  has  sold  the  property  ;  these 
designing  to  cut  it  up  into  town-lots  and  suburban  villa- 
sites. 

He  has  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  his  rapid 
removal,  as  he  finds  on  the  following  da}T,  when  visit 
ing  his  old  home  for  some  trifling  purpose,  and  there 
hearing  what  had  happened  during  the  night.  The  man 
in  charge  —  a  stalwart  American,  armed  to  the  teeth 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  25S 

■ — gives  him  a  full  account  of  the  nocturnal  visitors. 
There  were  four,  he  says,  —  having  counted  them 
through  the  keyhole  of  the  door,  —  inquiring  for  him, 
Don  Gregorio.  The}T  appeared  greatly  disappointed 
at  not  getting  an  interview  with  him,  and  went  off 
uttering  adjurations  in  Spanish,  though  having  held 
their  parley  in  plain  English. 

A  message  from  the  British  man-of-war,  and  brought 
by  men  who  swore  in  Spanish  !  Strange  all  that,  thinks 
Don  Gregorio,  knowing  the  "Crusader"  should  then 
be  at  least  a  hundred  leagues  off  at  sea.  Besides,  the 
messengers  have  not  presented  themselves  at  the 
Parker  House,  to  which  the  care-taker  Lad  directed 
them.  "What  could  it  mean?"  asks  the  ex-liacien- 
dado  of  himself.  Perhaps  the  sailor  who  is  now  first 
officer  of  the  Chilian  ship  maj*  know  something  of  it ; 
and  he  will  question  him  next  time  he  goes  aboard. 
He  has,  however,  but  little  hope  of  being  enlightened 
in  that  quarter  ;  his  suspicions  turning  elsewhere.  He 
cannot  help  connecting  Messrs.  De  Lara  and  Calderon 
with  the  occurrence.  Crozier's  letter,  coupled  with 
further  information  received  from  the  bearer  of  it,  has 
thrown  such  a  light  on  the  character  of  these  two  indi- 
viduals, that  he  can  believe  them  capable  of  any  thing. 
After  their  attempt  to  rob  the  j'oung  officers,  and  mur- 
der them  as  well,  the}T  would  not  hesitate  to  serve 
others  the  same  ;  and  the  demand  for  admission  to  his 
house  ma}T  have  been  made  by  these  very  men,  with  a 
couple  of  confederates  ;  their  design  to  plunder  it,  if 
not  worse. 

Thus  reflecting,  he  is  thankful  for  having  so  uncon- 
sciously foiled  them  ;  indeed  deeming  it  a  providence. 
Still  is  he  all  the  more  solicitous  to  leave  a  land  beset 
*rith  such  dangers.     Even  in  the  town  he  does  not  feel 

22 


254  THE   FLAG   OF   D  [STRESS. 

safe.  Robbers  and  murderers  walk  boldly  abroad 
through  the  streets  ;  not  alone,  but  in  the  company  of 
judges  who  have  tried  without  condemning  them  ;  while 
lesser  criminals  stand  b}T  drinking-bars,  hob-nobbing 
with  the  constables  who  either  hold  them  in  charge,  or 
have  just  released  them  after  a  mock  hearing  before 
some  magistrate,  with  e}Tes  blind  as  those  of  Justice 
herself,  — blinded  by  the  gold-dust  of  California. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  Don  Gregorio  need  have 
no  fear  for  his  ladies.  Their  sojourn  at  the  hotel  may 
be  somewhat  irksome  and  uncongenial,  still  are  the}7 
safe.  Rough-looking  and  boisterous  as  are  some  of 
their  fellow-guests,  they  are  yet  in  no  way  rude.  The 
most  sensitive  ladjT  need  not  fear  moving  in  their  midst. 
A  word  or  gesture  of  insult  to  her  would  call  forth  in- 
stant resentment. 

It  is  not  on  their  account  he  continues  anxious,  but 
because  of  his  unprotected  treasure.  Though  secreted 
aboard  the  "  Condor,"  it  is  still  unsafe.  Should  its 
whereabouts  get  whispered  abroad,  there  are  robbers 
bold  enough,  not  onry  to  take  it  from  the  Chilian  skip- 
per, but  set  fire  to  his  ship,  himself  in  her,  and  cover 
their  crime  by  burning  even'  thing  up.  Aware  of  this, 
Don  Gregorio,  with  the  help  of  friendly  Silvestre,  has 
half  a  dozen  trusty  men  placed  aboard  of  her,  there 
to  stay  till  a  crew  can  be  engaged.  It  is  a  costly  mat- 
ter ;  but  money  may  save  money,  and  now  is  not  the 
time  to  cavil  at  expenses. 

As  3Tet,  not  a  sailor  has  presented  himself.  None 
seems  caring  to  ship  "  for  Valparaiso  and  intermediate 
ports,"  even  at  the  double  wages  offered  in  the  adver- 
tisement. The  "Condor's"  forecastle  remains  un- 
tenanted, except  hy  the  six  longshore -men,  who  tempo- 
rarily occupy  it,  without  exactly  knowing  why  they  are 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  255 

there,  but  contented  to  make  no  inquiry  so  long  as 
they  are  receiving  their  ten  dollars  a  day.  Of  crew, 
there  is  onl}'  the  captain  himself,  his  first  officer,  and 
the  cook.     The  orangs  do  not  count. 

Day  by  day  Don  Gregorio  grows  more  impatient, 
and  is  in  constant  communication  with  Silvestre.  c '  Offer 
higher  wages,"  he  says  :  "  engage  sailors  at  any  price." 
The  ship-agent  j'ields  assent ;  inserts  a  second  aviso  in 
the  Spanish  paper,  addressed  to  "  marineros  of  all 
nations."  Triple  wages  to  those  who  will  take  service 
on  a  well-appointed  ship  ;  in  addition,  all  the  usual 
allowances,  the  best  of  grub  and  grog.  Surely  this 
should  get  the  "  Condor"  a  crew. 

And  at  length  it  does.  Within  twenty-four  hours 
after  the  advertisement  has  appeared,  sailors  begin  to 
show  on  her  deck.  They  come  singly,  or  in  twos  and 
threes,  and  keep  coming,  till  as  many  as  half  a  score 
have  presented  themselves.  They  belong  to  different 
nationalities,  speaking  several  tongues,  among  them 
English,  French,  and  Danish.  But  the  majority  ap- 
pear to  be  Spaniards,  or  Spanish  Americans,  as  might 
have  been  expected  from  the  "  Condor  "  being  a  Chil- 
ian ship.  Among  them  is  the  usual  variety  of  facial 
expression,  though  in  one  respect  a  wonderful  uni- 
formity. Scarce  a  man  of  them  whose  countenance  is 
not  in  some  way  unprepossessing  ;  either  naturally  of 
sinister  cast,  or  brought  to  it  by  a  career  of  sinful  dis- 
sipation. Several  of  them  show  signs  of  having  been 
recently  drinking,  in  eyes  bleary  and  bloodshot ;  of 
strife,  too,  by  other  eyes  that  are  blackened,  with  scars 
upon  their  cheeks  not  yet  cicatrized.  Some  are  still  in 
a  state  of  inebriety,  and  stagger  as  they  stray  about 
the  decks. 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  .such  sailors  woulf 


256  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

stand  no  chance  of  getting  shipped.  As  it  is,  they  are 
accepted,  not  one  refused  :  Capt.  Lantanas  has  no  choice, 
and  knows  it.  Without  them  he  is  helpless ;  and  i* 
would  be  hopeless  for  him  to  think  of  putting  to  sea. 
If  he  do  not  take  them,  the  "  Condor  "  may  swing  idly 
hi  hci  anchor  for  weeks,  it  might  be  months.  Quick  as 
they  come  aboard,  he  enters  their  names  on  the  ship's 
books  ;  while  Harry  Blew  assigns  them  their  separate 
bunks  in  the  fore-peak.  One,  a  Spaniard,  by  name 
Padilla,  shows  credentials  from  some  former  ship  that 
procure  for  him  the  berth  of  piloto  segundo  (second 
mate). 

After  the  ten  have  been  taken,  no  more  present 
themselves.  Even  the  big  bounty  offered  docs  not 
tempt  another  tar  from  the  saloons  of  San  Francisco. 
In  airy  other  seaport  it  would  empty  eveiy  sailors' 
boarding-house  to  its  last  lodger.  Still  ten  hands  are 
not  enough  to  work  the  good  ship  "  Condor."  Her 
captain  knows  it,  and  waits  another  day,  hoping  he 
may  get  a  few  more  to  complete  her  complement.  He 
hopes  in  vain  :  the  supply  seems  exhausted.  Becom- 
ing convinced  of  this,  he  determines  to  set  sail  with 
such  crew  as  he  has  secured.  But  little  more  remains 
to  be  done,  —  some  stores  to  be  shipped,  provisions  for 
the  voyage,  the  best  and  freshest  San  Francisco  can 
afford;  for  he  who  authorizes  their  inlay  cares  not 
for  the  cost,  only  that  things  ma}T  be  made  comforta- 
ble. Don  Gregorio  gives  carte-blanche  for  providing 
the  vessel ;  and  it  is  done  according  to  his  directions. 
At  length  everything  is  ready,  and  the  "Condor" 
only  awaits  her  passengers.  Her  cabin  has  been  hand- 
sonidy  furnished,  its  best  state-room  decorated  to  re- 
ceive two  ladies,  fair  as  ever  set  foot  on  hoard  a  ship. 


STOBY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  257 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

"adios,    California!" 

ANOTHER  sunrise  over  San  Francisco,  in  1 11  like- 
lihood the  last  Don  Gregorio  Montijo  will  ever 
witness  in  California  ;  for  just  as  the  orb  of  day  shows 
its  disk  above  the  dome-shaped  silhouette  of  Monte 
Diablo,  flinging  its  golden  shimmer  across  the  bay,  a 
boat  leaves  the  town-pier,  bearing  him  and  his  towards 
the  Chilian  vessel,  whose  signals  for  sailing  are  out. 
Others  are  in  the  boat,  — a  large  party  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  who  accompany  them  to  do  a  last  hand- 
shaking on  board  the  ship ;  for,  in  quitting  California, 
the  ex-haciendado  leaves  man}'  friends  behind,  among 
them,  some  who  will  pass  sleepless  hours  thinking  of 
Carmen  Montijo,  and  others  whose  hearts  will  be  sore 
as  their  thoughts  turn  to  Inez  Alvarez.  It  may  be 
ihat  none  of  these  is  in  the  boat,  and  better  for  them  if 
the}'  are  not ;  since  the  most  painful  of  all  partings  is 
that  where  the  lover  sees  his  sweetheart  sail  away,  with 
the  knowledge  she  cares  neither  to  stay,  nor  come  back. 

The  two  3Toung  girls  going  off  show  but  little  sign 
of  regret  at  leaving.  They  are  hindered  by  remem- 
brance of  the  last  words  spoken  at  another  parting, 
now  painfully  recalled,  "  Hasta  Cadiz!  "  The  thought 
;>f  that  takes  the  sting  out  of  this. 

The  boat  reaches  the  ship,  and,  swinging  around,  lies 
alongside.  Capt.  Lantanas  stands  by  the  gangway  to 
receive  his  passengers,  with  their  friends ;  while  his 
first  olicer  helps  thorn  up  the  man-ropes. 

22* 


253  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

Among  the  ladies,  Harry  Blew  distinguishes  the  two 
he  is  to  have  charge  of,  and  with  them  is  specially 
careful.  As  their  soft,  gloved  fingers  rest  in  his  rough, 
horny  hand,  he  mentally  registers  a  vow,  that  it  shall 
nevei  fail  them  in  the  hour  of  need,  if  such  there  evei 
bo. 

On  the  cabin-table  is  spread  a  refection  of  the  best ; 
and  around  it  the  leave-takers  assemble,  the  Chilian 
skipper  doing  the  honors  of  his  ship,  and  gracefully  ; 
for  he  is  in  truth  a  gentleman. 

Half  an  hour  of  merry-making,  light  chatter,  en- 
livened by  the  popping  of  corks  and  clinking  of  glasses  ; 
then  ten  minutes  of  converse  more  serious,  after  which, 
hurried  graspings  of  the  hand,  and  a  general  scatter- 
ing towards  the  shore-boat,  which  soon  after  moves  off 
amid  exclamations  of  "Adios!  "  and  "  Bueno  viage!" 
accompanied  b}-  the  waving  of  hands,  and  white  slender 
fingers  saluting,  with  tremulous  motion,  like  the  quiver 
of  a  kestrel's  wing,  —  the  fashion  of  the  Spanish 
American  fair. 

While  the  boat  is  being  rowed  back  to  the  shore,  the 
u  Condor"  spreads  sail,  and  stands  away  towards  the 
Golden  Gate. 

She  is  soon  out  of  sight  of  the  port,  having  entered 
the  strait  which  gi\es  access  to  the  great  landlocked 
estuaiy.  But  a  wind  blowing  in  from  the  west  hindeis 
her ;  anct  she  is  all  the  day  tacking  through  the  eight 
miles  of  narrow  water  which  connect  San  Francisco 
Bay  with  the  Pacific. 

The  sun  is  nigh  set  as  she  passes  the  old  Spanish 
fort,  and  opens  view  of  the  outside  ocean.  But  the 
heavenly  orb  that  rose  over  Monte  Diablo  like  a  globe 
of  goid  goes  down  beyond  Los  Farallones  more  resem- 
bling a  ball  of  fire  about  to  be  quenched  in  the  sea. 


A  STOPwY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  259 

lb  is  still  only  half  immersed  in  the  blue  liquid  ex 
panse,  when,  gliding  out  from  the  portals  of  the  Gol 
den  Gate, the  "  Condor  "  rounds  Seal  Rock,  and  stands 
on  hei  course  W.S.W. 

The  wind  has  shifted,  the  evening  breeze  beginning 
to  blow  steadily  from  the  land.  This  is  favorable  ;  and 
after  tacks  have  been  set,  and  sails  sheeted  home,  there 
is  but  little  work  to  be  done. 

As  it  is  the  hour  of  the  second  dog-watch,  the  sailors 
are  all  on  deck,  grouped  about  the  fore-hatch,  and  glee- 
fully conversing.  Here  and  there  an  odd  individual 
stands  by  the  side,  with  e3~es  turned  shoreward,  taking 
a  last  look  at  the  land  ;  not  as*if  he  regretted  leaving 
it,  but  is  rather  glad  to  get  away.  More  than  one  of 
the  "  Condor's  "  crew  have  reason  to  feel  thankful  that 
the  Chilian  craft  is  carrying  them  from  a  countiy, 
where,  had  they  staid  much  longer,  it  would  have 
been  to  find  lodgement  in  a  jail.  Out  at  sea,  their  faces 
seem  no  better  favored  than  when  the}r  first  stepped 
aboard.  Scarce  recovered  from  their  shore  carousing, 
they  show  swollen  cheeks,  and  eyes  inflamed  with  alco- 
hol, countenances  from  which  the  breeze  of  the  Pacific, 
however  pure,  cannot  remove  that  sinister  expression. 

At  sight  of  them  and  the  two  fair  creatures  sailing 
in  the  same  ship,  a  thought  about  the  incongruity,  as 
also  the  insecurity",  of  such  companion;, hip,  cannot 
help  coming  uppermost.  It  is  like  two  beautiful  birds 
of  paradise  shut  up  in  the  same  cage  with  half  a  score 
of  wolves,  tigers,  and  hyenas. 

But  the  birds  of  paradise  are  not  troubling  them- 
selves about  this,  or  any  thing  else  in  the  ship.  Lin- 
ger ing  abaft  the  binnacle,  with  their  hands  resting  on 
the  taffrail,  the}'  look  back  at  the  land,  their  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  summit  of  a  hill,  ere  1/  ng  to  become  lost  tc 


260  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

their  view  by  the  setting  of  the  sun.  They  have  been 
standing  so  for  some  time  in  silence,  when  Iiiez  says^ 
"  I  can  tell  what  }~ou're  thinking  of,  tia." 

"  Indeed  !  can  you?    Well,  let  me  hear  it." 

"  You're  saying  to  yourself,  '  What  a  beautiful  hill 
that  is  3Tonder !  and  how  I  should  like  to  be  once  more 
upon  its  top  !  —  not  alone,  but  with  somebody  beside 
me.'     Now,  tell  the  truth,  isn't  that  it?  " 

"  Tho^e  are  3'our  own  thoughts,  sobrina." 

"  I  admit  it,  and  also  that  the}'  are  pleasant.  Thc^ 
are  yours  also,  are  the}'  not?  " 

"  O11I3'  in  part.  I  have  others,  which  I  suppose  you 
can  share  with  me."     ° 

"What  others?  " 

"  Reflections  not  all  agreeable,  but  quite  the  con- 
trary." 

"  Again  distressing  yourself  about  that !  It  does 
not  give  me  any  concern,  and  didn't  from  the  first." 

"No?  " 

"  No !  " 

"  Well,  I  must  sa}r  }'ou  take  things  easily ;  which  I 
don't.  A  lover  —  engaged  too  —  to  go  awa}r  in  that 
sans  favon  manner !  Not  so  much  as  a  note,  nor  even 
a  verbal  message.  Santissima  I  it  was  something  more 
than  rude :  it  was  cruel ;  and  I  can't  help  thinking 
so." 

"  But  there  was  a  message  in  the  letter  to  grand* 
papa  for  both  of  us.     What  more  would  you  wish?  " 

"  Pff!  whd  cares  for  parting  compliments  ?  A  lepero 
v  ould  send  better  to  his  sweetheart  in  sleeveless  ca- 
misa.     That's  not  the  message  for  me." 

"  How  can  you  tell  there  wasn't  some  other,  which 
has  miscarried  ?  I'm  almost  sure  there  has  been.  Else 
why  should  somebody  have  knocked  at  the  door,  and 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  26* 

ga id  so?  The  Americano  left  in  charge  of  the  house 
has  told  grandpa  something  about  four  men  having 
come  thero  the  night  after  we  left  it.  One  may  have 
been  the  messenger,  the  others  going  with  him  for 
company  ;  and,  through  his  neglect,  we've  not  got  let- 
ters intended  for  us.  Or,  if  they  haven't  written,  it's 
because  the}'  were  pressed  for  time.  However,  we 
shall  know  when  we  meet  them  at  Cadiz." 

"Ah!  When  we  meet  them  there,  I'll  demand  an 
explanation  from  Eduaro.  That  shall  I,  and  get  it  — 
or  know  the  reason  why." 

"  He  will  give  a  good  one,  I  warrant.  There's  been 
a  miscarriage  somehow  ;  for  hasn't  there  been  mystery 
all  round?  Luckily,  no  fighting,  as  we  feared,  and 
have  reason  to  rejoice.  Neither  any  thing  seen  or 
heard  of  3Tour  Californian  chivalry!  That's  the  stran- 
gest thing  of  all." 

"It  is  indeed  strange!"  rejoins  Carmen,  showing 
emotion.  "  I  wonder  what  became  of  them.  Nobody 
that  we  know  has  met  either,  after  that  day,  nor  ye* 
heard  word  of  them." 

"  Carmen,  I  believe  one  has  heard  of  them." 

"Who?" 

"Your  father." 

"  What  makes  3-011  think  so,  Inez?  " 

"  Some  words  I  overheard  while  he  was  conversing 
with  the  English  sailor  who's  now  in  the  ship  with  us. 
I'm  almost  certain  there  was  something  in  Mr.  Cro- 
zier's  letter  that  related  to  De  Lara  and  Calderon. 
What  it  was  grandpapa  seems  desirous  of  keeping  to 
himself,  else  he  would  have  told  us.  We  must  en- 
deavor to  find  it  out  from  the  sailor." 

"  You're  a  cunning  schemer,  sobrina.  I  should 
never  liavo.  thought  of  that.     We  shall  try.     Now  I 


262  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTEESS. 

remember,  Eduardo  once  saved  this  man's  life.  Wasn't 
it  a  noble,  daring  deed?  For  all,  I'm  mad  angry  with 
him  leaving  me  as  he  did,  and  sha'n't  be  pacified  till 
he  get  upon  his  knees,  and  apologize  for  it.  That  he 
shall  do  at  Cadiz!" 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  tia,  I  was  a  little  spited 
myself  at  first.  On  reflection,  I  feel  sure  there's  been 
some  mischance,  and  we've  been  wronging  thein  both 
I  sha'n't  blame  my  darling  till  I  see  him  again.  Then, 
if  he  can't  clear  himself —  oh,  won't  I?  " 

"  You  forgive  too  easily.     I  can't." 

"  Yes,  you  can.  Look  at  yonder  hill.  Recall  the 
pleasant  hour  passed  upon  it,  and  3'ou'll  be  lenient  as 
I  am." 

Carmen  obej's,  and  again  turns  her  glance  toward 
the  spot  sacred  to  sweet  memories. 

As  she  continues  to  gaze  at  it,  the  cloud  lifts  from 
her  brow,  replaced  by  a  smile,  that  promises  easy 
pardon  to  him  who  has  offended  her. 

In  silence  the  two  stand,  straining  their  eyes  upon 
the  far  summit,  till  shore  and  sea  become  one,  both 
blending  into  the  purple  of  twilight. 

"  Adios,  California!  " 

Land  no  longer  in  sight.  The  ship  is  au  large  on 
She  ocean , 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SKA.  263 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A  TATTOO  THAT  NEEDS  RETOUCHING. 

rXl  HE  great  Pacific  current  in  many  respects  resem- 
I  bles  the  Gulf  Stream  of  the  Atlatnic.  Passing 
eastward  under  the  Aleutian  Archipelago,  it  impinges 
upon  the  American  continent,  b}'  Vancouver's  Island ; 
thence  setting  southward,  along  the  Californian  coast, 
curves  round,  horseshoe  shape,  and  strikes  back  for 
the  centre  of  the  South  Sea,  sweeping  on  past  the 
Sandwich  Isles.  By  this  disposition,  a  ship  bound  from 
San  Francisco  for  Honolulu  has  the  flow  in  her  favor ; 
and,  if  the  wind  be  also  favorable,  she  will  make  fast 
way.  As  chance  has  it,  both  are  propitious  to  the 
"  Crusader;"  and  the  war-ship,  standing  for  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  will  likely  reach  them  after  an  in- 
credibly short  voyage.  There  are  two  individuals  on 
board  of  her  who  wish  it  to  be  so,  counting  eveiy  day, 
almost  every  hour,  of  her  course.  Not  that  they  have 
an}'  desire  to  visit  the  dominions  of  King  Kamekameha, 
or  expect  pleasure  there :  on  the  contraiy,  if  left  to 
themselves,  the  "Crusader's"  staj-  in  the  harbor  of 
Honolulu  would  not  last  longer  than  necessaiy  to  pro- 
cure a  boat-load  of  bananas,  and  replenish  her  hen- 
coops with  fat  Kanaka  fowls. 

It  is  scarce  necessaiy  to  say  that  they  who  are  thus 
indifferent  to  the  delights  of  Owj'hee  are  the  late- 
made  lieutenant  Crozier,  and  the  midshipman  Cad- 
wallader.     The  bronzed  Hawaiian  beanies  wilJ    hava 


^64  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

small  attraction  for  them.  Not  the  slightest  dange* 
of  either  yielding  to  the  blandishments  oft  lavishly  be- 
stowed upon  sailors  by  these  seductive  damsels  of  the 
Southern  Sea ;  for  the  hearts  of  both  are  yet  thrilling 
with  the  remembrance  of  smiles  vouchsafed  them  by 
other  daughters  of  the  sunny  South,  of  a  far  different 
race, — thrilling,  too,  with  the  anticipation  of  again 
basking  in  these  smiles  under  the  sky  of  Andalusia. 

It  needs  hope,  all  the}-  can  command,  to  cheer  them  ; 
not  because  the  time  is  long,  and  the  place  distant: 
sailors  are  accustomed  to  long  separation  from  those 
they  love,  and  so  habituated  to  patience.  It  is  no 
particular  uneasiness  of  this  kind  which  shadows  their 
brows,  and  makes  every  mile  of  the  voyage  seem  a 
league.  Nor  are  their  spirits  clouded  by  an}'  reflections 
on  that  which  vexed  them  just  before  leaving  San 
Francisco.  If  they  have  any  feelings  about  it,  they 
are  rather  those  of  repentance  for  suspicions  which 
both  believe  to  have  been  as  unfounded  as  unworthy. 
What  troubles  them  now  (for  they  are  troubled)  has 
nought  to  do  with  that ;  nor  is  it  any  doubt  as  to  the 
loyalty  of  their  financees,  but  fear  for  their  safety.  It 
is  not  well  defined,  but  like  some  dream  which  haunts 
them,  —  at  times  so  slight  as  to  cause  little  concern,  at 
other  times  filling  them  with  anxiety.  But,  in  what- 
ever degree  felt,  it  always  assumes  the  same  shape  : 
two  figures  conspicuous  in  it  besides  those  of  their 
betrothed  sweethearts,  two  faces  of  evil  omen,  —  one 
that  of  Calderon,  the  other  De  Lara's.  What  the  young 
officers  saw  of  these  men,  and  what  more  they  learned 
of  them  before  leaving  San  Francisco,  makes  natural 
their  misgivings  and  justifies  their  fears.  Something 
seems  to  whisper  them  that  there  is  danger  to  be 
dreadel  from  the  gamblers,  desperadoes  as  they  have 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  26r> 

shown  themselves  ;  that  through  them  some  eventuality 
may  arise  affecting  the  future  of  Carmen  Montijo  ami 
Inez  Alvarez,  so  as  to  prevent  their  escape  from  Cali- 
fornia. Escape !  Yes,  that  is  the  word  Messrs. 
Crozier  and  Cadwallader  make  use  of  in  their  con- 
versation on  the  subject,  the  form  in  which  their  fear 
presents  itself. 

Before  reaching  the  Sandwich  Islands,  they  receive  a 
scrap  of  intelligence,  which  in  some  respect  cheers 
them.  It  has  become  known  to  the  "Crusader's' 
crew  that  the  frigate  is  to  make  but  short  stay  there,  — 
will  not  even  enter  the  harbor  of  Honolulu.  The  com- 
mission intrusted  to  her  captain  is  of  ho  very  impor- 
tant nature  :  he  is  simply  to  leave  an  official  despatch, 
with  some  commands  for  the  British  consul ;  after 
which,  head  round  again,  and  straight  for  Panama. 

"Good  news,  isn't  it,  Ned?"  says  Cadwallader  to 
his  senior,  as  the  two,  on  watch  together,  stand  convers- 
ing. "With  the  quick  time  we've  made  from  'Frisco, 
as  the  Yankees  call  it,  and  no  delay  to  speak  of  in  the 
Sandwiches,  we  ought  to  get  to  the  Isthmus  as  soon  as 
the  Chilian  ship." 

"  True.  But  it  will  a  good  deal  depend  on  the  tl^e 
the  Chilian  ship  leaves  San  Francisco.  Xo  doubt 
she'd  have  great  difficult}'  in  getting  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  hands.  Blew  told  you  there  were  but  the  cap- 
tain and  himself." 

"Only  they  and  the  cook,  —  an  old  dark}',  a  run- 
away slave,  he  said,  besides  a  brace  of  great  red 
baboens —  orangs.  That  was  the  whole  of  her  crew 
by  last  report.  "Well,  in  one  way  we  ought  to  be  glac 
she's  so  short,"  continues  the  midshipman.  "It  ma} 
give  us  the  chance  of  reaching  Panama  before  her; 
and,  as  the  frigate's  destined  to  put  into  that  port.  w<j 


266  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

may  meet  the  dear  girls  again   sooner  thau   we  ex- 
pected." 

"I  hope  and  trust  we  shall.  I'd  give  a  thousand 
pounds  to  be  sure  of  it.  It  would  lift  a  load  off  my 
mind,  the  heaviest  I  ever  had  on  it." 

"Off  mine  too.  But,  even  if  we  don't  reach  Pan 
ama  before  them,  we'll  hear  whether  thejT,ve  passed 
through  there.  If  they  have,  that'll  set  things  right 
enough.  We'll  then  know  the3''re  safe,  and  will  be  so. 
Hasta  Cadiz." 

"It  seems  a  good  omen,"  says  Crozier  reflectingly, 
"  that  we  are  not  to  be  delaj-ed  at  the  islands." 

"  It  does,"  rejoins  Cadwallader.  "  Though,  but  for 
the  other  thing,  I'd  liked  it  better  if  we  were  to  stay 
there,  only  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  For  what  reason?  " 

"There!"  sa}'s  the  midshipman,  pulling  up  his 
shirt-sleeve,  and  laying  bare  his  arm  to  the  elbow. 
"  Look  at  that,  lieutenant !  " 

The  lieutenant  looks,  and  sees  upon  the  skin,  white 
as  alabaster,  a  bit  of  tattooing.  It  is  the  figure  of  a 
young  girl,  somewhat  scantily  robed,  with  long  stream- 
ing tresses ;  hair,  contour,  countenance,  every  thiug, 
done  in  the  deepest  indigo. 

"  Some  old  sweetheart?"  suggests  Crozier. 

"It  is." 

"  But  she  can't  be  a  Sandwich  Island  belle.  You've 
never  been  there." 

"  No,  she  isn't.  She's  a  little  Chilena,  whose  ac- 
quaintance I  made  last  spring,  while  we  lay  at  Val- 
paraiso. Grummet,  the  cutter's  cockswain,  did  the 
tattoo  for  me  as  we  came  up  the  Pacific.  He  nadn'* 
quite  time  to  finish  it,  as  you  see.  There  was  to  be  a 
picture  of  the  Chilian  flag  over  her  head,  and,  undei* 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  207 

neath,  the  girl's  name  or  initials.  I'm  now  glad  they 
didn't  go  in." 

"But  what  the  dense  has  all  this  to  do  with  the 
Sandwich  Islands  ? ' ' 

' 'Only  that  I  intended  to  have  the  thing  taken  out 
there.  Grummet  tells  me  he  can't  do  it,  but  that  the 
Kanakas  can.  He  says  they've  got  some  trick  for 
extracting  the  staiu  without  scarring  the  skin,  or  only 
very  slightly." 

"But  why  should  you  care  about  removing  it?  I 
acknowledge  tattooing  is  not  nice  on  the  epidermis  of 
a  gentleman ;  and  I've  met  scores,  like  3Tourself,  sorry 
for  having  submitted  to  it.  After  all,  what  does  ife 
signify?  Nobody  need  ever  see  it,  unless  you  wish 
them  to." 

"  There's  where  you  mistake.  Somebody  might  see 
it,  without  my  wishing ;  sure  to  see  it,  if  ever  I  get"  — 

"What?" 

"Spliced." 

"Ah!     Inez?" 

"Yes,  Inez.  Now  you  understand  why  I'd  like  to 
spend  a  day  or  two  among  the  South-Sea-Islanders. 
If  I  can't  get  the  thing  taken  out,  I'll  be  in  a  dilemma. 
I  know  Inez  would  be  indulgent  in  a  good  many  ways ; 
but,  when  she  sees  that  blue  image  on  my  arm,  she'll 
look  black  enough.  And  what  am  I  to  say  about  it? 
I  told  her  she  was  the  first  sweetheart  I  ever  had ;  as 
you  know,  Ned,  a  little  bit  of  a  fib.  Only  a-  white 
one ;  for  the  Chilena  was  only  a  mere  fancy,  gone  out 
of  my  mind  long  ago,  as,  no  doubt,  I  am  out  of  hers. 
The  question  is,  How's  her  picture  to  be  got  out  of  my 
skin?    I'd  give  something  to  know." 

"If  that's  all  your  trouble,  you  needn't  be  at  any 
expense,  except  what  yon  may  tip  old  Grummet.     You 


?38  THE  FLAG  OP  DISTRESS. 

pvay  he  has  not  completed  the  portrait  of  3'our  Chilcna. 
'fmt's  pk,in  enough,  looking  at  the  shortness  of  hei 
»Vir^»s  Now  let  him  go  on,  and  lengthen  them  a  little, 
Tt)p,n  finish  by  putting  a  Spanish  flag  over  her  head, 
©stead  of  the  Chilian  as  you  intended ;  and,  under- 
neath, the  initials  '  I.  A.'  With  that  on  your  arm,  you 
aiay  safely  show  it  at  Cadiz." 

"  A  splendid  idea  !  The  very  thing  !  The  only  dif- 
ficulty is,  that  this  picture  of  the  Chilian  girl  isn't  any 
thing  like  as  good-looking  as  Inez.  Besides,  it  would 
never  pass  for  her  portrait." 

"  Let  me  see  :  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  I  think, 
.with  a  few  more  touches,  it  will  stand  well  enough  for 
your  Andalusian.  Grummet's  given  her  all  the  wealth 
of  hair  3Tou're  so  constantly  bragging  about.  The  only 
poverty's  in  that  petticoat ;  but,  if  you  get  the  skirt 
stretched  a  bit,  that  will  remedy  it.  You  want  sleeves, 
too,  to  make  her  a  lady.  Then  set  a  tall,  tortoise- 
shell  comb  upon  her  crown,  with  a  spread  of  lace  over 
it,  hanging  down  below  the  shoulders,  the  mantilla ; 
and  3'ou'll  make  as  good  an  Andalusian  of  her  as  is 
Inez  herself." 

"By  Jove,  you're  right!  it  can  be  done.  The  bit 
added  to  the  skirt  will  look  like  a  flounced  border. 
The  Spanish  ladies  have  such  on  their  dresses.  I've 
seen  them.  And  a  fan  —  they  have  that  too.  She 
must  have  one." 

"  By  all  means  give  her  a  fan ;  and,  as  you're 
doubtful  about  the  likeness,  let  it  be  done  so  as  to 
cover  her  face  —  at  least,  the  lower  half  of  it :  that 
will  be  just  as  they  carry  it.  You  can  hide  that  nose, 
which  is  a  trifle  too  snub  for  the  Andalusian.  The 
eyes  appear  good  enough." 

44  The  Chilena  had  splendid  eyes." 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  ti69 

<;  Of  course,  or  she  wouldn't  have  her  portrait  there. 
But  how  did  your  artist  know  that?  Has  he  ever  seen 
the  original  ?" 

"No,  I  described  her  to  him;  and  he's  acquainted 
with  the  costume  the  Chilian  girls  wear.  He's  seen 
plenty  of  such.  I  told  him  to  make  the  face  a  nice 
oval,  vs ith  a  small  mouth,  and  pretty  pouting  lips; 
then  to  give  her  great  big  eyes.  You  see,  he's  ione 
all  that." 

"  He  has  certainly." 

"About  the  feet?  They'll  do,  won't  they?  They're 
small  enough,  I  should  say." 

"  Quite  small  enough  ;  and  those  ankles  are  perfec 
tion.     They  ought  to  satisfy  your  Andalusian  —  almost 
flatter  her." 

"Flatter  her!  I  should  think  not.  They  might 
your  Biscayan,  with  her  big  feet,  but  not  Inez,  who's 
got  the  tiniest  little  understandings  I  ever  saw  on  a 
woman  —  tall  as  she  is." 

"  Stuff!  "  scornfully  retorts  Crozier  :  "  that's  a  grand 
mistake  people  make  about  small  feet.  It's  not  the 
size,  but  the  shape,  that's  to  be  admired.  They  should 
be  in  proportion  to  the  rest  of  the  body ;  otherwise, 
they're  a  monstrosity,  as  among  the  Chinese  for  in- 
stance. And  as  for  small  feet  in  men,  about  which  the 
French  pride  and  pinch  themselves,  why,  every  tailor's 
got  that." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughs  the  young  Welshman.  "  A 
treatise  on  orthopedia,  or  whatever  it's  tailed.  Well, 
I  shall  let  the  Chileha's  feet  stand,  with  the  ankles 
too,  and  get  Grummet  to  add  on  the  rest." 

' '  What  if  your  Chileiia  should  chance  to  set  eyes  on 
the  improved  portrait?  Remember,  we're  to  call  at 
Valparaiso !  " 

23* 


270  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  If  you  should  meet  her,  3'ou'll  do  well  to  keep 
your  shirt- sleeves  down,  or  }tou  maj^  get  the  picture 
scratched,  }Tour  cheeks  along  with  it." 

"  Bah  !  there's  no  danger  of  that.  I  don't  expect 
ever  to  see  that  girl  again  —  don't  intend  to.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair,  after  giving  that  engagement-ring  to 
Inez.  If  we  do  put  into  Valparaiso,  I'll  stay  aboard 
all  the  time  the  frigate's  in  port.  That  will  insure 
against  any  "  — 

"Landho!" 

Their  dialogue  is  interrupted.  The  lookout  on  the 
masthead  has  sighted  Mauna-Loa. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

A  CREW  THAT  MEANS  MUTINY. 

A  SHIP  sailing  clown  the  Pacific,  on  the  line  of 
longitude  125°  W.  Technically  speakiDg,  not  a 
$7iip,  but  a  bark,  as  may  be  told  b}'  her  mizzen-sails, 
<?et  fore  and  aft. 

Of  all  craft  encountered  on  the  ocean,  there  is  none 
so  symmetrically  beautiful  as  the  bark.  Just  as  the 
name  looks  well  on  the  page  of  poetr}7  and  romance, 
so  is  the  reality  itself  on  the  surface  of  the  sea.  The 
sight  is  simply  perfection.  And  about  the  vessel  in 
question  another  graceful  peculiarity  is  observable  :  her 
masts  are  of  the  special  kind  called  x>olacca,  —  in  one 
piece  from  step  to  truck. 

Such  vessels  are  comm  <n  enough  in  the  Medi terra 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  271 

nean,  and  not  rare  in  Spanish  American  ports.  They 
may  be  seen  at  Monte  Video,  Buenos  A}Tes,  and  Val 
paraiso,  to  which  last  this  bark  belongs ;  for  she  ia 
Chilian  built ;  her  tall,  tapering  masts  made  of  trees 
from  the  ancient  forests  of  Araucania.  Painted  upon 
the  stern  is  the  name,  "El  Condor;"  for  she  is  tho 
craft  commanded  b}r  Capt.  Antonio  Lantanas.  This 
may  seem  strange.  In  the  harbor  of  San  Francisco, 
the  "Condor"  was  a  ship.  How  can  she  now  be  a 
bark?  The  answer  is  easy,  as  has  been  the  transfor- 
mation ;  and  a  word  will  explain  it.  For  the  working 
of  her  sails,  a  bark  requires  fewer  hands  than  a  ship. 
Finding  himself  with  an  incomplete  crew,  Capt.  Lan- 
tanas resorted  to  a  stratagem  common  in  such  cases, 
and  converted  his  vessel  accordingly.  The  conversion 
was  effected  on  the  day  before  leaving  San  Francisco  ; 
so  that  the  "Condor,"  entering  the  Golden  Gate  a 
ship,  stood  out  of  it  a  bark.  As  this,  she  is  now  on 
the  ocean,  sailing  southward  along  the  line  of  longi- 
tude 125°  W. 

On  the  usual  track  taken  by  sailing-vessels,  between 
Upper  California  and  the  Isthmus,  she  has  westered, 
to  •  get  well  clear  of  the  coast,  and  catch  the  regular 
winds,  that,  centuries  ago,  wafted  the  spice-laden  Span- 
ish galleons  from  the  Philippines  to  Acapulco.  A 
steamer  would  hug  the  shore,  keeping  the  brown,  bar- 
ren mountains  of  Lower  California  in  view.  Instead, 
the  "Condor"  has  sheered  wide  from  the  land,  and, 
in  all  probability,  will  not  again  sight  it  till  she  begins 
to  bear  up  for  the  Ba}-  of  Panama. 

It  is  the  middle  watch  of  the  night,  the  first  after 
leaving  San  Francisco.  Eight  bells  have  sounded  ;  and 
the  chief  mate  is  in  charge,  the  second  having  turned 
in,  along  with  the  division  of  crew  allotted  to  bira.  The 


272  THE  FLAG    OF  DISTRESS. 

sea  is  tranquil,  the  breeze  light,  blowing  from  the 
desired  quarter ;  so  that  there  is  nothing  to  call  for  any 
unusual  vigilance.  True,  the  night  is  dark,  but  with- 
out portent  of  storm.  It  is,  as  Harry  Blew  knous 
only  a  tb  <k  rain-cloud,  such  as  often  shadows  this  par' 
of  the  Pacific.  Bat  the  darkness  need  not  be  dreaded. 
They  are  in  too  low  a  latitude  to  encounter  icebergs ; 
and  upon  the  wide  waters  of  the  South  Sea  there  is  not 
much  danger  of  collision  with  ships.  Notwithstand- 
ing these  reasons  for  feeling  secure,  the  chief  officer 
of  the  "  Condor"  paces  her  decks  with  a  brow  clouded 
as  the  sky  over  his  head  ;  while  the  glance  of  his  eye 
betrays  anxiety  of  no  ordinary  kind.  It  cannot  be  from 
any  apprehension  about  the  weather.  He  does  not 
regard  the  sky,  nor  the  sea,  nor  the  sails  :  on  the  eou- 
irar}T,  he  moves  about,  not  with  bold,  manlike  step,  as 
one  having  command  of  the  vessel,  but  stealthily,  now 
and  then  stopping,  and  standing  in  crouched  attitude, 
within  the  deeper  shadow  thrown  upon  her  decks  by 
masts,  bulwarks,  and  boats.  He  seems  less  to  occup) 
himself  about  the  ropes,  spars,  and  sails,  than  the  be- 
havior of  those  who  work  them  ;  not  while  they  are 
working  them,  either,  but  more  when  the}'  are  straying 
idly  along  the  gangways,  or  clustered  in  some  corner, 
and  conversing.  In  short,  he  appears  to  be  playing 
spy  on  them.  For  this  he  has  his  reasons,  and  they 
are  good  ones.  Before  leaving  San  Francisco,  he  dis- 
covered the  incapacity  of  the  crew,  so  hastily  get 
together  ;  a  bad  lot,  he  could  see  at  first  sight,  —  rough, 
-ibald,  and  drunken.  In  all,  there  are  eleven  of  them, 
the  second  mate  included  ;  the  last,  as  already  stated, 
a  Spaniard,  by  name  Padilla.  There  are  three  others 
of  this  same  race,  —  Spaniards,  or  Spanish  Americans, 
—  Gil  Gomez,  Jose  Hernandez,  and  Jacinto  Velarde; 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  27C 

two  Englishmen,  Jack  Striker  and  Bill  Davis  ;  a  French- 
man, by  name  La  Crosse  ;  a  Dutchman,  and  a  Dane ; 
the  remaining  two  being  men  whose  nationality  is  diffi- 
cult to  determine,  and  scarce  known  to  themselves, 
such  as  may  be  met  on  almost  every  ship  that  sails  the 
sea. 

The  chief  officer  of  the  "  Condor,"  accustomed  to  a 
man-o'-war,  with  its  rigid  discipline,  is  already-  dis- 
gusted with  what  is  going  on  aboard  the  merchantman. 
He  has  been  so  before  leaving  San  Francisco,  having, 
also,  some  anxiety  about  the  navigation  of  the  vessel. 
With  a  crew  so  incapable,  he  anticipated  difficult}',  if 
not  danger ;  but,  now  that  he  is  out  upon  the  open 
oceau,  he  is  sure  of  the  first,  and  fully  apprehensive 
of  the  last ;  for,  in  less  than  a  single  da}^'s  sailing,  he 
has  discovered  that  the  crew,  besides  counting  short,  is 
otherwise  untrustwortlrv.  Several  of  the  men  are  not 
sailors  at  all,  but  longshore-men  ;  one  or  two  of  them 
"  land-lubbers,"  who  never  laid  hand  upon  a  ship's 
rope  before  clutching  those  of  the  "  Condor."  With 
>uch,  what  chance  will  there  be  for  working  the  ship 
in  a  storca? 

But  there  is  a  danger  he  dreads  far  more  than  the 
mismanagement  of  her  ropes  and  sails,  — insubordina- 
tion. Even  thus  early  it  has  shown  itself  among  the 
men,  and  may  at  any  moment  break  out  into  open  mu- 
tiny. All  the  more  likely  from  the  character  of  Capt. 
Lantanas,  with  whicji  he  has  become  well  acquainted. 
The  Chilian  skipper  is  an  easy-going  man,  given  to 
reading  books  of  natural  histoiy,  and  collecting  curios- 
ities, as  evinced  by  his  brace  of  Bornean  apes,  and 
other  specimens  picked  up  during  his  trading-trip  to 
the  Indian  Archipelago,  —  a  man  in  every  way  amiable, 
but  just  on  this  account  the  most  unfitted  to  control  a 


274  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

crew  such  as  that  he  has  shipped  for  the  voyage  to  Val- 
paraiso. Absorbed  in  his  studies,  he  takes  little  notice 
of  'Jiem,  leaving  them  in  the  hands,  and  to  the  control, 
of  his  piloto,  Harry  Blew.  But  Harry,  though  a  typi- 
cal British  sailor,  is  not  one  of  the  happy-go-lueky 
kind.  He  has  been  intrusted  with  something  more 
than  the  navigation  of  the  Chilian  ship,  —  with  the 
charge  of  two  fair  ladies  in  her  cabin ;  and,  although 
these  have  not  yet  shown  themselves  on  deck,  he  know3 
they  are  safe,  and  well  waited  on  by  the  black  cook, 
who  is  also  steward,  and  who,  under  his  rough  sable 
skin,  has  a  kindly,  gentle  heart.  It  is  when  thinking 
of  his  cabin-passengers,  that  the  "Condor's"  first 
officer  feels  apprehensive,  and  then  not  from  the  inca- 
pacity of  her  sailors,  but  their  bold,  indeed  almost, 
insolent  behavior.  Their  having  shown  something  of 
this  at  first  might  have  been  excusable,  or,  at  all  events, 
capable  of  explanation :  they  had  not  yet  sobered 
down.  Fresh  from  the  streets  of  San  Francisco,  so 
lawless  and  licentious,  it  could  not  be  expected.  But 
most  of  them  have  been  now  some  da}'s  aboard,  no 
drink  allowed  them  save  the  regular  ration,  with  plenty 
of  every  thing  else.  Kind  treatment  from  captain  and 
mate,  and  still  they  show  scowling  and  discontented,  as 
if  the  slightest  slur,  an  angry  word,  even  a  look,  would 
make  mutinj^  among  them.  ' '  What  can  it  mean  ?  What 
do  the  men  want?" 

A  score  of  times  has  Harry  Blew  thus  interrogate  i 
himself,  without  receiving  satisfactory  answer.  It  is  to 
obtain  this  he  is  now  gliding  silently  about  the  "  Con- 
dor's "  decks,  and  here  and  there  concealing  himself 
in  shadow,  in  the  hope  he  may  overhear  some  speech 
that  will  give  him  a  clew  to  the  conspiracy,  if  con- 
spiracy it  be.     And  in  this  bore  he  is  not  deceived  or 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA       275 

disappointed,  but  successful  even  be}ond  his  mos» 
sanguine  expectations  ;  for  he  at  length  gets  the  clew, 
Dot  only  to  the  insubordination  of  the  crew,  but  all  else 
that  has  been  puzzling  him.  And  a  strange  problem 
it  is,  its  solution  positively  appalling.  He  gets  it  while 
standing  under  a  piece  of  sail-cloth,  spread  fr>m  the 
rail  to  the  top  of  the  round-house,  rigged  up  hy  the 
carpenter  as  a  sun-screen  while  doing  sane  work  dur- 
ing the  heat  of  the  day,  and  so  left.  The  sky  being 
now  starless  and  pitch-black,  with  this  additional  ob- 
struction to  light,  Harry  Blew  stands  in  obscurity  im- 
penetrable to  the  eye  of  man.  One  passing  so  close  as 
almost  to  touch  could  not  possibly  see  him. 

Nor  is  he  seen  by  two  men,  who,  like  himself,  saun- 
tering about,  have  come  to  a  stop  under  the  spread  can- 
vas. Unlike  him,  however,  they  are  not  silent,  but 
engaged  in  conversation,  in  a  low  tone,  still  loud 
enough  for  him  to  hear  them,  —  every  word  said.  And 
to  every  one  he  listens  with  interest  so  engrossing,  that 
his  breath  is  well-nigh  suspended. 

He  understands  what  is  said,  all  the  easier  from 
their  talk  being  carried  on  in  English,  —  his  own  tongue  ; 
for  they  who  converse  are  Jack  Striker  and  Bill  Davis. 
And,  long  before  their  dialogue  comes  to  an  end,  he  has 
not  only  obtained  intelligence  of  what  has  hitherto  per- 
plexed him,  but  gets  a  glimpse  of  something  beyond,  — 
that  which  sets  his  hair  on  end,  and  causes  the  blood  to 
curdle  in  his  veins. 


276  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

TWO    "SYDNEY    DUCKS." 

JACK  STRIKER  and  Bill  Davis  are  two  "  Sydne5 
Ducks,"  who  have  seen  service  in  the  chain-gangs 
of  Australia.  They  have  also  served  as  sailors,  this 
being  their  original  calling.  But  since  a  certain  voy- 
age to  the  Swan  River  settlement, — in  which  they 
were  but  passengers,  sent  out  at  the  expense  of  II.  B. 
Majesty's  government,  —  the}'  have  had  aversion  to 
the  sea,  and  only  take  to  it  intermittently,  when  under 
the  necessity  of  working  passage  from  port  to  port  for 
other  purposes.  Escaping  from  a  colonization  forced 
upon  tbem,  and  quite  uncongenial,  they  had  thus  made 
their  wa}T  into  California,  and  after  a  trip  up  the 
Sacramento,  and  a  spell  at  gold-seeking,  with  but  in- 
different success,  had  returned  to  San  Francisco ;  in 
the  Queen  Cit}-  of  the  Pacific  finding  ways  of  life 
they  liked  better  than  the  hard  labor  of  pick,  pan,  and 
cradle.  Loafering  among  its  low  sailor-haunts,  they 
encountered  a  pleasant  surprise,  by  meeting  a  man  who 
offered  them  five  thousand  dollars  each  to  ship  in  a 
merchant-vessel,  for  the  "  short  trip  "  to  Panama.  A 
wage  so  disproportion ed  to  the  service  asked  for,  of 
course  required  some  explanation,  which  the  princely 
contractor  gave,  after  having  secured  their  confidence. 
It  proved  satisfactory  to  the  Sydney  Ducks,  who, 
without  further  questioning,  entered  into  the  contract. 
The  result  was   their  getting  conducted   aboard   the 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  277 

"  Condor,' '  she  being  the  vessel  bound  for  the  port 
of  Panama. 

He  who  had  given  them  this  handsome  engage:! enl 
was  not  the  owner  of  the  ship,  no  more  was  he  her 
captain  or  supercargo,  but  a  gentleman  representing 
himself  authorized  to  accept  their  services  for  a  some- 
what different  purpose  than  the  mere  working  of  her 
sails,  and  who  promised  to  pay  them  in  a  peculiar 
manner,  — under  certain  contingencies,  even  more  than 
the  sum  stipulated,  notwithstanding  its  magnificence. 
The  strange  conditions  were  partially  made  known  to 
them  before  setting  foot  on  the  ship ;  and  though  an 
honest  sailor  would  have  scornfully  rejected  them, 
even  in  the  face  of  such  tempting  reward,  Jack  Striker 
and  Bill  Davis  accepted  them  without  scruple  or 
cavil ;  for  they  are  not  honest  sailors,  but  ex-con- 
victs, criminals  still  unreformed,  and  capable  of  any 
misdeed,  —  piiwry,  or  murder,  —  if  only  money  can  be 
made  thereby. 

Since  coming  aboard  the  "  Condor,"  and  mixing 
with  others  of  her  crew,  the}r  have  had  additional  in- 
sight into  the  character  of  their  contract,  and  the 
services  required  of  them.  The}'  find  that  severa 
other  men  have  been  engaged  in  a  somewhat  similar 
wa}-,  and  at  a  like  bounteous  wage  ;  for  a  while  won- 
dering at  it,  till  after  a  mutual  comparison  of  notes, 
and  putting  together  their  respective  scraps  of  intelli- 
gence, with  surmises  added,  they  arrive  at  a  pretty 
accurate  understanding  of  how  the  land  lies,  and  why 
their  entre-preneur  —  who  is  no  other  than  the  second 
mate,  Padilla  —  has  been  so  liberal. 

Striker,  who  has  seen  more  of  the  world,  and  is  the 
elder  of  the  two  Sydney  Ducks,  has  been  the  first  to 
obtain  this  added  information  ;  and  it  is  for  the  purpose 

24 


278  »     THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

of  communicating  it  to  his  old  chum  of  the  chain-gang> 
he  has  asked  the  latter  to  step  aside  with  him.  And, 
chancing  to  be  cast  together  in  the  middle  watch,  an 
opportunity  offers,  which  the  older  convict  has  all  that 
day  been  looking  out  for. 

Davis,  of  more  talkative  habit,  is  the  first  to  break 
silence,  which  he  does  on  the  instant  of  their  coming 
under  the  awning. 

"Well,  old  pal!  What  d'ye  think  of  our  present 
employ?  Better  than  breakin'  stone  for  them  Swan 
River  roads,  with  twenty  pound  of  iron  chain  clinkin' 
at  a  fellow's  feet.     An't  it?" 

"Better'n  that,  yes,  but  not's  good  as  it  might 
be." 

"  Tut,  man,  3Tou're  alwaj's  grumblin'.  Five  thou- 
sand dollars  for  a  trip  that  isn't  like  to  run  up  to  a 
month,  not  more  than  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  I 
should  say !  If  that  don't  content  3-ou,  I'd  like  to 
know  what  would." 

"  Well,  mate,  I'll  tell  'ee  what  wud.  Thirty  thou- 
sand for  the  trip.  An'  Jack  Striker  an't  like  to  be 
saterfied  wi'  any  thin'  short  o'  that  sum." 

' ;  You'  re  joking,  Jack  ? ' ' 

"  No,  I  an't,  Bill.  As  you  knows,  I'm  not  o'  the 
jokin'  sort,  an'  now  mean  what  I  sa}T,  sartin  as  I  ever 
meant  airy  thin'  in  my  life.  Both  me  an'  3'ou  oughter 
get  thirty  thousand  apiece  o'  this  yellow  stuff,  —  that 
at  the  weriy  leest." 

"  Why,  there  wouldn't  be  enough  to  go  round  the 
lot  that's  in." 

"  Yes,  thar  wud,  an'  will.  Old  as  I  im,  I  hain't  yit 
quite  lost  hearin'.  My  yeers  are  as  sharp  as  they  iver 
wor,  an' jist  as  reliable.  Larst  night  I  heerd  a  whisper 
pass  atween  Padilla  an'  another  o'  them  Spanish  chaps, 
that's  put  me  up  to  some^hink." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  279 

1  *  What  did  you  hear  ?  ' ' 

"  That  the  swag' 11  tot  up  to  the  total  o'  three  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars." 

"  The  dense  it  will !  Why,  they  said  it  wasn't  half 
that  much  !     Paclilla  himself  told  me  so." 

"  No  matter  what  he's  told  you.  I  tell  ye  now  it's 
all  o'  the  six  figures  I've  sayed.  In  coorse  it's  their 
interest  to  make  it  out  small  as  they  possibly  can, 
seein'  as  our  share's  to  be  a  purcentage.  I  know 
better  now,  an',  knowin',  it,  an't  agoin'  to  stan'  none 
o'  theer  nonsense.  Neyther  shud  you,  Bill.  We 
both  o'  us  are  'bout  to  risk  the  same  as  any  o'  the 
tothers." 

"  That's  true  enough." 

"  In  coorse  it  is  !  An',  bein'  so,  we  oughter  share 
same  as  them ;  can,  an'  will,  if  we  stick  well  thegither. 
It's  jest  as  eezy  one  way  as  tother." 

"  There's  something  in  what  }*ou  say,  mate." 

"  Theer' s  every  thin'  in  it,  an'  nothin'  more  than 
our  rights.  As  I've  sa}red,  we  all  risk  the  same,  —  an' 
that's  gettin'  our  necks  stretched.  For,  if  we  make  a 
mucker  o*  the  job,  it'll  be  a  hangin'  matter,  sure. 
For  I  dar  say  theer' s  got  to  be  blood  spilt  afore  it's 
finished." 

"What  would  you  advise  our  doing?  You  know, 
Jack,  I'll  stand  b}-  you,  whatever  you  go  in  for." 

44  Well,  I  want  it  to  be  a  fair  divide  all  round  ;  de- 
tarmined  it  shall  be.  Why  shud  the  four  Spanish  fellas 
get  a  dollar  moren  us  others.  As  I've  obsarved,  twoo' 
them — Gomez  an'  Hernandez  —  have  set  theer  eyes  on 
the  weemen  folks.  It's  eezy  to  see  that's  part  o'  theer 
game.  Beside,  I  heerd  them  talkin'  o't.  Gomez  be 
arter  the  light  girl ;  an'  Hernandez,  the  dark  un.  Well, 
they  may  do  as  they  like,  for  all  I  care.     But  that  are 


280  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

all  the  more  reezun  why  they  onghtent  be  so  greedy 
'bout  the  shinin'  stuff.  As  for  Mister  Gomez,  it's 
plain  he's  the  head  man  o'  the  lot ;  an'  the  second 
mate,  who  engaged  us,  is  only  like  the  others,  an* 
'pears  to  be  controlled  by  him.  'Twar  'tween  them 
two  I  overheerd  the  confab ;  Gomez  tellin'  Padilla 
that  the  dust  lyin'  snug  in  the  cabin-lockers  was  full 
valley  for  three  hunderd  thousan'.  An',  as  theer's 
eleven  o'  us  to  share,  that  'ud  be  nigh  on  thirty 
thousan'  apiece,  if  my  'rithmetic  an't  out  o'  reckinin'. 
Bill  Davis,  I  say,  we  oughter  stan'  up  for  our  rights." 

u  Certainty  we  should.  But  there'll  be  difficulty  in 
getting  them,  I  fear." 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  morsel,  — if  we  stick  out  for  'em. 
The  four  Spanyards  means  to  go  snacks  'mong  them- 
selves. But  theer  be  seven  o'  us  outsiders  ;  an' ,  when 
I  tell  the  others  what  I've  told  you,  they'll  be  all  on 
our  side  —  if  they  an't  the  silliest  o'  fools." 

"They  won't  be  that,  I  take  it:  a  difference  of 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  or  so,  in  their  favor,  will  make 
them  sensible  enough.  But  what's  to  be  the  upshot, 
or,  as  they  call  it  in  the  theeatre  play-bills,  what's  the 
programme?  " 

"  Well,  mate,  so  far  as  I've  been  put  up  to't,  we're 
to  run  on  till  we  get  clown  the  coast,  somewheer  near  the 
Issmus  o'  Pan}Tma.  Theer  we'll  sight  land  ;  an',  soon's 
we  do,  the  ship's  to  be  scuttled,  we  first  securin'  the 
swag,  an'  takin'  it  ashore  in  one  o'  the  boats.  We're 
to  land  on  some  part  o'  the  coast  that's  known  to  Go- 
mez, he  sa}-s.  Then  we're  to  make  for  some  town, 
when  we've  got  things  straight  for  puttin'  in  appear- 
ance in  a  explainable  way.  Otherwaj  s,  we  might  get 
pulled  up  ;  an'  all  our  trouble  'ud  be  for  nowt,  worse,  — 
every  man  jack  on  us  would  have  a  good  chance  to 
swine;  for't. " 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  281 

"  And  the  young  ladies?  " 

"  They're  to  go  along  wi'  Gomez  an'  Hernandez 
How  they  mean  to  manage  it,  Jack  Striker  can't  tell 
ye.  They'll  be  a  trouble,  no  doubt,  as  always  is  wi' 
weemen;  an' it  be  a  pity  we're 'hampered  wi'  'em  — 
moren  that,  it's  reg'lar  dangersome.  They  may  get 
the  hul  kit  o'  us  into  a  scrape.  Howsever,  we'll  hev  to 
take  our  chances,  since  theer's  no  help  for  it.  The  two 
chaps  'pear  to  be  reg'lar  struck  with  'em.  "Well,  let 
'em  carry  off  the  gurls,  an'  welcome.  As  I've  saved, 
thet  oughter  make  'em  less  objectin'  to  a  fair  divide  o' 
the  dust." 

"  What's  to  be  done  with  the  others,  —  the  old 
Spaniard  and  skipper,  with  the  black  cook  and  first 
mate  ? ' ' 

"  They're  to  go  down  wi'  the  ship.  The  intenshuu 
is,  to  knock  all  o'  'em  on  the  head  soon's  we  come  in 
sight  o'  land." 

"  Well,  Jack,  for  the  first  three  I  don't  care  a  brass 
farthing.  They're  foreigners  and  blacks,  therefore 
nothing  to  us.  But,  as  Blew  chances  to  be  a  country- 
man of  ours,  I'd  rather  it  didn't  go  so  hard  with 
him." 

"Balderdash,  Bill  Davis  !  What  have  you  or  me  to 
do  wi'  feelins  o'  that  sort?  Countryman,  indeed !  A 
fine  country,  as  starves  ten  millions  o'  the  like  o'  us 
two,  an',  if  we  try  to  take  what  by  nateral  right's  our 
own,  sends  us  out  o'  it  wi'  handcuffs  round  our  wrists, 
an'  iron  jewelry  on  our  ankles !  All  stuff  an'  psalni- 
singin'  that  'bout  one's  own  country,  an'  fella-country- 
men !  If  we  let  him  off,  we  might  meet  him  somewhere 
when  we  an't  a-wantin'  to.  He'll  have  to  be  served 
same  as  the  tother  three.  There  be  no  help  for't,  if 
we  don't  want  to  have  the  Ik  nip  roun'  our  thrapples." 

24* 


28fc  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTEESS. 

"  I  suppose  3rou're  right,  Striker  ;  though  it  does 
seem  a  pity  too.  But  what  reason  have  the  Spaniards 
for  keepin'  the  thing  back  ?  Why  should  they  wait  till 
we  get  down  near  Panama?  As  the  yellow  stuff's  lyin 
ready,  sure  it  might  be  grabbed  at  once,  an'  then  we'd 
have  more  time  to  talk  of  how  it's  to  be  divided? 
What's  the  difficulty  about  our  taking  it  now?  " 

"  'Tan't  the  takin'  o't.  That'll  be  eezy  work ;  an', 
when  the  time  comes,  we'll  have  it  all  our  own  way. 
We  could  toss  the  four  overboard  in  the  skippin'  o'  a 
flea.  But  then  how's  the  ship  to  be  navvygated  without 
the  skipper  an'  first  mate?  " 

"  Surely  we  can  do  without  them?  " 

"  That's  jest  what  we  can't.  O'  all"  our  crew, 
theer's  only  them  two  as  hev  the  knowledge  o'  charts 
an'  chronometers,  an'  the  like ;  for  him  as  is  actin' 
second  confesses  he  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  sich: 
tharfor,  though  we're  in  a  good  soun'  craft,  without 
the  skipper,  or  Blew,  we'd  be  most  as  good  as  helpless. 
We're  now  on  the  biggest  o'  all  oceans,  an',  if  she 
stood  on  the  wrong  tack,  we  might  never  set  eyes  on 
land,  or  only  to  be  cast  away  on  some  clangersome 
shore  —  or,  what  'ud  be  bad  as  eyther,  get  overhauled 
by  some  man-o'-war,  an'  not  able  to  gie  account  o' 
ourselves.  Theer's  the  diffyculty,  don't  'ee  see,  Bill? 
So  the  Spanyards  hev  agreed  to  let  things  alone  till 
we've  ran  down  nigh  Pan}Tma.  Theer  Gomez  says 
theer  be  a  long  streetch  o'  uninhabited  coast,  when 
we'll  be  safe  goin'  ashore  in  the  night." 

44  Well,  I  suppose  that'll  be  the  best  way,  after  all, 
If  a  man  has  the  mone}*,  it  don't  make  much  difference 
where  he  sets  foot  on  shore;  an'  no  doubt  we'll  find 
sport  doTfn  at  Panyma  good  as  anywhere  else." 

"  Theer  ye  be  right,  Bill.     When  a  cove's  flush, 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  28S 

there's  pleasurin'  everywhere.     Gold's  the  only  thing 
as  gives  it." 

"  With  the  prospect  of  such  big  plunder,  we  can 
afford  to  be  patient,"  says  Davis  resignedly. 

"  I  an't  agoin'  to  be  patient  for  the  paltry  five  thou 
Band  they  promised.  No,  Bill !  neyther  must  you. 
We've  equal  rights  wi'  the  rest ;  an'  we  must  stick  out 
for  'em." 

"  Soon  as  you  say  the  word,  Jack,  I'm  at  3*our  back. 
So'll  all  the  others,  who' re  in  the  same  boat  with  our- 
selves." 

"  They  oughter,  an'  belike  will ;  tho'  theer's  a  weak- 
witted  fool  or  two  as  may  take  talkin'  into  it.  I  means 
to  go  at  'em  at  once,  soon's  I've  finished  my  trick  at 
the  wheel,  the  which' 11  soon  be  on.  Ay!  theer's  the 
bell  now :  I  must  go  aft.  When  I  come  off,  Bill,  be 
you  up  by  the  night-heads,  an'  have  that  Dutch  chap 
as  is  in  our  watch  'long  wi'  ye,  an'  also  the  Dane. 
They're  the  likeliest  to  go  in  wi'  us  at  once,  an'  I'll 
first  broach  it  to  them." 

"  All  right,  old  pal !     I'll  be  there." 

The  two  plotters  step  out  from  under  the  awning ; 
Striker  turning  aft  to  take  his  "trick"  at  the  wheel, 
the  other  sauntering  off  in  the  direction  of  the  fore- 
castle. 

Harry  Blew  stands  aghast,  his  hair  on  end,  the 
blood  coursing  chill  through  his  veins.  No  wronder, 
after  listening  to  such  a  revelation  !  A  plot  diabolical, 
a  scheme  of  atrocit}^  unparalleled,  comprising  three 
horrible  crimes,  —  robbeiy,  the  abduction  of  women, 
and  the  murder  of  men,  among  these  himself. 

Now  knows  he  the  cause  of  the  czew's  insubordina- 
tion, too  clearly  comprehends  it  —three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  of  gold-dust  stowed   in  the   cabin* 


2^1  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

lockers.  "News  to  him ;  for  Capt.  Lantanas  had  not 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  fact,  the  treasure  having 
been  shipped  before  his  coming  aboard,  in  fact,  on  that 
same  night  when  he  went  after  Silvestre.  At  the  very 
time  he  was  knocking  at  the  ship-agent's  office-door, 
Don  Thomas,  with  some  trust}'  watermen,  were  engager1 
in  getting  it  aboard  the  Chilian  ship. 

An  unfortunate  arrangement,  after  all,  and  now  too 
certain  of  ending  disastrousl}',  not  011I3'  for  Don  Gre- 
gorio,  but  those  dear  to  him,  with  others  less  interested, 
yet  linked  to  his  fate.  Though  the  ex-man-of-war  Is- 
mail is  neither  doubtful  nor  incredulous  of  what  he  has 
just  heard,  it  is  some  time  before  his  mind  can  grasp 
all  the  details.  So  filled  is  he  with  astonishment,  it  is 
natural  his  thoughts  should  be  confused,  and  himself 
excited.  But  soon  he  reflects  calmly,  and,  revolving 
every  thing  over,  perceives  clearly  enough  what  are  the 
crimes  to  be  committed,  with  the  motives  for  commit- 
ting them.  There  can  be  no  ambiguity  about  the 
nature  of  the  nefarious  conspirac}'.  It  has  all  been 
hatched  and  pre-arranged  on  shore  ;  and  the  scoundrels 
have  come  aboard  specially  for  its  execution.  The 
four  Spaniards,  or  Californians  as  he  believes  them  to 
be,  must  have  had  knowledge  of  the  treasure  being 
shipped,  and,  in  their  plan  to  appropriate  it,  have 
engaged  the  others  to  assist  them.  Striker's  tall?:  has 
told  this,  while  revealing  also  the  still  more  fiendish 
designs  of  abduction  and  murder. 

The  prospect  is  appalling ;  and,  as  he  reflects  upon 
it,  Harry  Blew  feels  his  heart  sink  within  him,  strong 
though  that  heart  be.  For  a  dread  fate  is  impending 
over  himself,  as  well  as  those  he  has  promised  to  pro- 
tect. 

How  is  it  to  be  averted  ?  How  is  he  to  save  them  ? 
How  save  himself? 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  285 

These  questions  come  crowding  together,  anci  repeat 
'themselves  over  and  over,  but  without  suggesting 
answer.  He  cannot  think  of  one  that  is  satisfactory : 
he  sees  no  chance  of  escape.  The  crew  arc  all  in  the 
plot,  every  man  of  them,  —  either  as  principals  or 
engaged  assistants.  The  conversation  of  the  two  con- 
victs has  shown  this.  The  second  mate  same  as  the 
rest,  which  to  him,  Harry  Blew,  causes  no  surprise. 
He  Lid  already  made  up  his  mind  about  Padilla,  ob- 
serving his  sjinpathy  with  those  who  had  begun  to 
show  insubordination.  He  had  also  noticed,  that,  in 
whatever  was  up  among  them,  Gil  Gomez  was  the 
directing  spirit,  Velarde  next  in  influence  ;  both  domi- 
nating Padilla,  notwithstanding  his  superior  authority 
as  one  of  the  ship's  officers  ;  while  Hernandez  seemed 
to  be  controlled  by  all  three.  The  last,  Harry  Blew 
has  discovered  to  be  a  landsman,  with  no  sea-experi- 
ence whatever ;  when  found  out,  excusing  himself  on 
the  plea  that  he  wished  to  work  his  passage  to  Panama. 
The  position  of  the  other  seven  is  understood  by  what 
Striker  said.  All  are  in  the  scheme  of  pillage  and 
murder,  though  not  to  be  equall}-  rewarded. 

Bringing  them  one  after  another  before  his  mind  ; 
recalling  his  experience  of  them,  which,  though  short, 
has  given  him  some  knowledge  of  their  character, 
the  "  Condor's  "  first  officer  cannot  think  of  one  likely 
to  take  sides  with  him.  They  are  all  men  of  iniquity ; 
and,  in  defending  the  innocent,  he  would  have  to  stand 
alone ;  for  it  would  amount  to  almost  that,  with  no 
other  help  than  Capt.  Lantanas,  Don  Gregorio,  and 
the  cook,  —  the  first,  a  slight  slender  man,  with  just 
strength  enough  to  handle  a  telescope ;  the  second, 
aged,  ami  something  of  an  invalid ;  the  third,  foi 
fighting-purposes,  scarce  worth  thinking  of.     His  fidel- 


286  Ti£E   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

ity  could  be  depended  upon  to  the  death ;  but  he  is 
also  an  oldish  man,  and  would  count  for  little  in  a 
conflict  with  such  desperadoes  as  those  who  design 
making  themselves  masters  of  the  ship. 

All  these  points  present  themselves  to  the  mind  of 
the  first  mate  clearly,  impressively.  A  thought  of 
tolling  Capt.  Lantanas  what  he  has  discovered,  and 
which  came  naturally,  he  no  longer  entertains.  The 
trusting  Chilian  skipper  would  scarce  give  credit  to 
such  an  atrocious  scheme ;  and  if  he  did,  in  all  like- 
lihood it  would  result  in  his  taking  some  rash  step 
that  would  but  quicken  their  action,  and  bring  sooner 
on  the  fatal  catastrophe.  No  :  'twill  never  do  to  make 
him  acquainted  with  the  danger,  great  as  it  is.  Nor 
yet  should  Don  Gregorio  know  of  it.  The  terrible 
secret  must  be  kept  from  both,  and  carefully.  Either 
of  them  aware  of  it,  and  in  an  hour  after  all  might  be 
over,  —  the  tragedy  enacted,  and  its  victims  consigned 
to  the  sea, —  himself,  Harry  Blew,  being  one  of  them. 

Still  crouching  under  the  sail,  he  trembles,  as  he 
conjures  up  the  picture  of  that  fearful  fate  that  seems 
so  certainty  before  him.  Tn  the  midst  of  the  open 
ocean,  or  close  to  land,  the  scene  will  be  all  the  same, — 
the  girls  seized  ;  the  captain,  Don  Gregorio,  the  cook, 
and  himself,  shot  down,  or  poniarded ;  after  that,  the 
gold  dragged  out  of  the  lockers,  the  vessel  scuttled 
and  sunk,  a  boat  alone  left  to  carry  the  pirates  ashore, 
with  their  spoils  and  captives.  Contemplating  such  a 
scene,  even  only  in  imagination,  it  is  not  strange  that 
the  "  Condor's  "  first  officer  feels  a  shivering  through- 
out his  frame.  He  feels  it  in  eveiy  fibre.  And  reflec- 
tion fails  to  give  relief,  since  it  suggests  to  him  no 
plan  for  saving  himself.  On  the  contrary,  the  more  he 
dwells  on  it,  the  more  he  sees  the  danger,  —  sees  it  id 


A    STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  287 

f.11  its  stark  naked  reality.  Against  such  odds  a  con- 
flict would  be  hopeless.  It  could  only  end  in  death  to 
all  who  have  been  singled  out,  himself  perhaps  the 
first. 

For  a  time  he  stands  in  silent  cogitation,  with  de- 
spair almost  paralyzing  his  heart.  He  is  unable  to 
'hink  steadily  or  clearly.  Doubtful,  unfeasible  schemes 
shape  themselves  in  his  mind,  or  idle  thoughts  flit 
across  his  brain,  all  the  while  wild  emotions  coursing 
through  his  soul. 

At  length,  and  after  prolonged  reflection,  he  makes 
a  resolve.  As  his  face  is  in  shadow,  its  expression 
cannot  be  seen ;  but,  judging  by  the  words  that  are 
muttered  by  his  lips,  it  is  one  that  should  be  unworthy 
of  a  British  sailor,  in  short,  that  of  a  traitor.  For  hig 
soliloqu}T  seems  to  show  that  he  has  yielded  to  craven 
fear,  intends  surrendering  up  the  sacred  trust  reposed 
in  him,  and  along  with  it  his  honor. 

The  words  are,  — 

"  There's  no  chance  for  that,  nor  yet  for  the  savhr 
of  my  >wn  life,  except  by  castin'  my  lot  in  along  wf 
them"!     1 11  do  it  —  I'll  do"  it !  " 


288  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS, 


CHAPTER   XXXVHI. 

PLOT  UPON  PLOT. 

THE  u  Condor  "  is  sailing  -with  a  light  breeze  some 
points  abaft  the  beam.  Jack  Striker  is  at  the 
helm ;  and,  as  the  sea  is  smooth,  he  finds  it  eas}'  steer- 
ing, having  little  to  do  but  keep  her  stead}'  by  taking 
an  occasional  squint  at  the  compass-card.  The  moon, 
which  has  just  risen,  shining  in  his  face,  shows  it  to 
be  that  of  a  man  over  fifty,  with  the  felon  in  its  every 
line  and  lineament.  It  is  beardless,  pock-pitted,  with 
thick  shapeless  lips,  broad  hanging  jowls,  nosirils 
agape,  and  nose  flattened  like  the  snout  of  a  bull-dog. 
Eyes  green,  both  bleary,  one  of  them  bloodshot ;  for 
all,  eyes  that  by  his  own  boast  can  "  see  into  a  mill- 
stone as  far  as  the  man  who  picks  it."  He  has  not 
been  many  minutes  at  his  post  when  he  sees  some  one 
approaching  from  the  waist  of  the  ship,  —  a  man  whom 
he  makes  out  to  be  the  first  mate. 

"  Comin'  to  con  mc,"  growls  the  ex-convict.  "  Don't 
want  any  o'  his  connin',  not  I.  Jack  Striker  can  keep 
s  ship  on  her  course  well's  him,  or  air^  other  'board  o* 
this  craft." 

He  is  on  the  starboard  side  of  the  wheel,  while  the 
mate  approaches  along  the  port  gangway,  and,  after 
springing  up  to  the  poop-deck,  stops  opposite  the 
steersman. 

"Well,  Striker,"  he  saj-s ;  "  not  much  trouble  with 
her  to-night.     She's  goin'  free  too,  with  the  wind  in 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  289 

the  right  quarter.  We  ought  to  be  makin'  good  nine 
knots?" 

"  All  o'  that,  I  daresay,  sir,"  rejoins  Striker,  mol- 
lified by  the  affable  manner  in  which  the  first  officer 
has  addressed  him.  "The  bark  an't  a  bad  unto  go, 
though  she  be  a  queeiy-rigged  craft  as  ever  I  war 
aboard  on." 

"  You've  set  foot  on  a  goodish  many,  I  should  say, 
judgin'  from  the  way  ye  handle  a  helm.  I  see  3*011 
understan'  steerin'  a  ship." 

"I  oughter,  master,"  answers  the  helmsman,  fur- 
ther flattered  by  the  compliment  to  his  professional 
skill.  "  Jack  Striker's  had  a  fair  show  o'  schoolin'  to 
that  bizness." 

"  Been  a  man-o'-war's-man,  han't  3*011  ?  " 

"A3*,  all  o'  that!  An3T  as  doubts  it  can  see  the 
warrant  on  1113*  back,  an'  welcome  to  do  so.  Plent3T  o' 
the  cat's  claws  theer  ;  an'  I  don't  care  who  knows  it." 

"  Neyther  need  ye.  Many  a  good  sailor  can  show 
the  same.  For  myself,  I  han't  had  the  cat;  but  I've 
seed  man-o'-war  sarvice,  an'  got  rough  treatment  too. 
An'  I've  seed  sarvice  on  ships  man-o'-war' s  men  have 
chased,  likin'  that  sort  a  little  better :  I  do." 

-'Indeed  I"  exclaims  the  ex-convict,  turning  his 
e3*es  with  increased  interest  on  the  man  thus  frankly 
confessing  himself.     -'Smuggler?  or  ma3r  be  slaver?" 

"  Little  bit  o'  both.  An',  as  3*011  say  'bout  the  cat, 
J  don't  care  a  toss-up  who  knows  o't.  It's  been  a 
hardish  world  wi'  me  ;  plent3*  o'  ups  an'  downs,  the 
downs  ofener  than  the  ups.  Just  now,  things  are 
lookin'  sort  o'  uppish.  I've  got  1113*  berth  here  'count 
o'  the  scarcit3*  o'  hands  in  San  Francisco,  an'  the  luck 
o'  knowin'  how  to  take  sights,  an'  keep  a  log.  Still 
the  pay  an't  much,  considerin'  the  chances  left  behind 

25 


200  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

1  daresay  I'd  'a  done  a  deal  better  by  sta}™'  in  Cali« 
forney,  an'  goin'  on  to  them  gold-diggin's  up  in  the 

mountains. " 

"  You  han't  been  theer,  han't  ye?  " 

"No.  Never  went  a  cable's  length  a}Tont  the  town 
o'  San  Francisco." 

"  Maybe  jest  as  well  ye  didn't,  Master  Blew.  Me 
an'  Bill  Davis  tried  that  dodge.  We  went  all  the  waj 
to  the  washin's  on  Feather  River,  but  foun'  no  gold, 
onty  plenty  o'  hard  work,  wi'  precious  little  to  eat,  an* 
less  in  the  wa}^  o'  drink.  Neyther  o'  us  likin'  the  life, 
we  put  back  for  the  port." 

For  all  his  frankness  in  confessing  to  the  cat-o-nine- 
tails  on  board  a  war-ship,  Striker  says  nothing  about 
a  rope  of  a  different  kind  he  and  his  chum  Davis  were 
very  near  getting  around  their  necks  on  the  banks  of 
that  same  Feather  River,  and  from  which  the}'  escaped 
by  a  timely  retreat  upon  San  Francisco. 

"Well,"  rejoins  Blew  in  a  tone  of  resignation; 
"  maybe  I've  did  the  wisest  thing,  after  all,  in  not  goin' 
that  way.  I  might  'a  come  back  empty-handed,  same 
as  3'ourself  an'  Davis.  Ye  say  liquor  was  scarce  up 
there?  That  would  never  'a  done  for  me.  I  must 
have  my  reg'lar  allowance,  or —  Well,  no  use  sayin' 
what,  As  an  old  man-o' -war's  man,  you  can  under- 
stan'  me,  Striker.  An'  as  the  same,  I  suppose  30U 
won't  object  to  takin'  a  tot  now?  " 

"  Tv^o,  for  that  matter,"  promptly  responds  Striker, 
like  all  his  kind,  droutlry. 

"Well,  here's  a  drop  o'  rum,  —  the  best  Suita 
Cruz.     Help  yourself!  " 

Harry  Blew  presents  a  black-jack  bottle  to  the  helms- 
man, who,  detaching  one  hand  from  the  wheel,  takes 
hold  of  the  bottle,  and  carries  it  to  his  lips.     Afcei 


A  STOEY  OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  291 

keeping  it  there  for  a  prolonged  spell,  he  returns  it  tc 
its  owner,  who,  for  the  sake  of  sociability,  takes  a 
drink  himsdf.  This  done,  the  dialogue  is  renewed, 
and  progresses  in  even  a  more  friendly  way  than  before, 
the  Santa  Cruz  having  opened  the  heart  of  the  "  Syd- 
ney Duck"  to  a  degree  of  familiarity;  while,  on  hig 
side,  the  mate,  throwing  aside  all  reserve,  lets  himself 
down  to  a  level  with  the  foremastman.  It  ends  in 
their  establishing  a  confidence,  mutual  and  complete, 
of  that  character  known  as  "  thickness  between 
thieves."  Blew  first  strikes  the  chord  that  puts  theii 
spirits  en  rapport,  by  saying,  — 

"Ye  tell  me,  Striker,  that  ye've  had  hard  times  an' 
some  severe  punishment :  so's  had  Harry  Blew.  An' 
ye  say  3-e  don't  care  about  that ;  no  more  says  he. 
In  that,  we're  both  'o  us  in  the  same  boat ;  an'  now 
we're  in  the  same  ship,  —  3*011  a  sailor  afore  the  mast,  I 
first  officer.  But,  for  all  the  difference  in  our  rank,  we 
can  work  thegether.  An'  there's  a  way  we  can  both  o' 
us  do  better.     Do  you  want  me  to  tell  it  ye?  " 

"A3',  a3%  tell  it!  Jack  Striker's  ears  are  alius 
open  to  hear  how  he  can  better  his  sittivation  in  life. 
He's  a  listener.'* 

"All  right!  I've  observed  you're  a  good  hand  at 
the  helm.  Would  3-e  be  as  good  to  go  in  for  a  job 
that'll  put  a  pile  o'  mone3r  in  your  pocket?  " 

"That  depends,  not  on  what  sort  o'  a  job,  —  I 
don't  mean  that,  — but  what  mone3T,  how  much?  " 

"Puttin'  it  in  gold,  as  much  as  3-011  can  cany;  ayT, 
enough  to  make  3-011  stagger  under  it." 

"An'  3-011  ask  if  I'm  good  for  a  job  like  that? 
Werry  funny  questyin  thet  be,  'specialty  puttin'  it  to 
olc  Jack  Striker.  He's  good  for't,  wi'  the  gaDowa 
starin'  liim  full  in  the  face.     Darned  if  he  an't!  " 


292  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTEESS. 

"  Well,  I  thought  3'ou  wouldn't  be  the  one  to  be 
Lasket-faced  'bout  it.  It's  a  big  thing  I  have  on  hand ; 
an'  there'll  be  a  fortune  for  all  who  go  in  wi'  me." 

"Show  Jack  Striker  the  chance  o'  goin'  in,  an'  he'll 
show  j'ou  a  man  as  knows  no  backin'  out." 

"  Enough,  shipmate.  The  chance  is  close  to  hand, 
—  aboard  o'  this  ship.  Below,  in  her  cabin-lockers, 
there's  stowed  somethin'  like  half  a  ton  o'  glitterin' 
gold-dust.  It  belongs  to  the  old  Spaniard  that's  pas- 
senger ;  an'  what's  to  hinder  us  to  la}r  hands  on  it: 
If  we  can  only  get  enough  o'  the  crew  to  sa}r  3-es, 
there  needs  be  no  difficulty.  Them  as  won't  '11  have  to 
stan'  aside.  Though,  from  what  I  see  o'  them,  it's  like 
they'll  all  cut  in.  Divided  square  round,  there'll  be 
between  twenty  an'  thirty  thousand  dollars  apiece 
Does  that  tempt  3-e,  Striker?" 

"  Rayther.  Wi'  thirty  thousand  dollars,  I'd  ne'er 
do  another  stroke  o'  work." 

"You  needn't,  then.  You  can  have  all  o'  that  by 
joinin'  in,  an'  help  in'  me  to  bring  round  the  rest.  Do 
you  know  an}T  o'  them  you  could  sound  —  with  safety, 
I  mean  ?  ' ' 

"Two  or  three;  one  sartin, — my  ole  chum,  Bill 
Davis.  He  a  an  be  trusted  wi'  a  secret  o'  throat-cuttin', 
let  alone  a  trifle  such  as  3*ou  speak  o'.  An'  now, 
Master  Blew,  since  you've  seed  lit  to  confide  in  me 
I'm  agoin'  tc  gie  ye  a  bit  o'  my  confidence.  It's  but 
fair  atween  two  men  as  hev  got  to  understan'  one  the 
tother,  I  may's  well  tell  ye  that  I  knew  all  about  the 
stuff  in  the  cabin-lockers.  Me  an*  Davis  war  talkin* 
o't  jist  afore  I  come  to  the  wheel.  You  an't  the  only 
one  as  hez  set  theer  heart  on  hevin  it.  Them  Spanish 
chaps  hez  got  it  all  arranged  aneaclv,  an'  had  afore 
the}^  put  fut  'board  this  heer  bark.     Thar's  the  four 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  293 

on  'tin,  as  I  take  it,  all  standm'  in  equal;  whiles  th<3 
rest  o'  the  crew  war  only  to  get  so  much  o'  a  fixed 
sum." 

"  Striker,  ye  'stonish  me!" 

"  Well,  I'm  only  tellin'  ye  what  be  true-  I'm  glad 
you're  agreeable  to  go  in  wi'  us ;  the  which'll  save 
trouble,  an'  yer  own  life  as  well.  For  I  may  tell  ye, 
master,  that  they'd  made  up  thai*  miuds  to  send  }e  to 
the  bottom 'long  wi'  the  skipper  an'  the  ole  Spaniard." 

"  That's  a  nice  bit  of  news  to  hear,  by  Jove  !  Well, 
mate,  I'm  thankful  to  ye  for  communicatin'  it.  Lor ! 
it's  lucky  for  me  we've  this  night  chanced  to  get  talkin' 
thegether." 

"  Thar  maybe  luck  in't  all  roun'.  Bill  an'  me'd 
made  up  our  minds  to  stan'  out  for  a  equal  divide  o' 
the  dust,  —  like  shares  to  i very  man.  Shud  there  be 
an}*  dispute  'bout  that  bein'  fair,  wi'  you  on  our  side, 
we'll  eezy  settle  it  our  way,  spite  o'  them  Spanyards. 
If  they  refuse  to  agree,  an'  it  come  to  tightin',  then 
Jack  Striker's  good  for  any  two  on  'em." 

"An'  Harry  Blew  for  any  other  two.  No  fear  but 
we  can  fix  that.  How  man}'  do  you  think  will  be  with 
us?" 

"  Most  all,  I  shud  say,  'ceptin'  the  Spanyards  them- 
selves. It  consarns  the  rest  same's  it  do  us.  'Tall 
events,  we're  bound  to  ha'  the  majority." 

"When  do  you  propose  we  shud  begin  broachin'  it 
to  them?" 

"  Straight  away,  if  you  say  the  word.  I'll  try  some 
o'  'em  soon's  I've  went  off  from  here.  Thar  be  several 
on  the  watch  as'll  be  takin'  a  tot  together  'fore  we 
turns  in.     No  time  better  nor  now." 

"  True  :  so  at  them  at  once,  Striker.  But  mind  ye, 
mate :  be  cautious  how  ye  talk  to  them,  an'  don't  com- 

25* 


294  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

mit  ajther  of  us  too  far,  till  you've  larat  their  tempor. 
I'll  meet  ye  on  the  first  dog-watch  to-morrow  ;  then  you 
can  tell  me  how  the  land's  likely  to  lie." 

"  All  right!  I'll  see  to't  in  the  smooth  way.  Ton 
can  trust  Jack  Striker  for  that." 

"  Take  another  pull  o'  the  Santa  Cruz.  If  this  tlip 
prove  prosperous  in  the  way  we're  plannm'  it,  naytlier 
you  nor  me'll  need  to  go  without  the  best  o'  good 
liquor  for  the  rest  o'  our  lives." 

Again  Striker  clutches  at  the  proffered  bottle,  and 
holds  it  to  his  head,  this  time  till  he  has  drained  it 
dry.  Returned  to  him  empt}r,  Harry  Blew  tosses  it 
overboard.  Then  parting  from  the  steersman,  he  com- 
mences moving  forward,  as  with  the  design  to  look 
after  other  duties.  As  he  steps  out  from  under  the 
shadow  of  the  spanker,  the  moon,  gleaming  athwart  his 
face,  shows  on  it  an  expression  which  neither  pencil 
nor  pen  could  depict.  Difficult  indeed  to  interpret  it. 
The  most  skilled  physiognomist  would  be  puzzled  to 
say  whether  it  is  the  reproach  of  conscious  guilt,  or 
innocence  driven  to  desperation. 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  296 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

SHARE    AND     SHARE    ALIKE. 

IN  the  "  Condor's  forecastle.  It  is  her  second 
night  since  leaving  San  Francisco,  and  the  second 
watch  is  on  duty ;  the  men  of  the  first  having  come 
down  from  the  deck.  That  on  duty  is  Padilla's ;  in 
it  Gomez,  Hernandez,  Velarde,  and  the  two  sailors 
of  nationality  unknown.  The  off-watch  consists  of 
Striker,  Davis,  the  Frenchman  who  is  called  La  Crosse, 
with  the  Dutchman,  and  Dane.  All  five  are  in  the 
fore-peak ;  the  chief  mate,  as  they  suppose,  having 
retired  to  his  cabin. 

They  are  waiting  till  those  on  the  watch  not  required 
for  deck-dut}^  come  below.  All  of  these  have  had 
intimation  they  will  be  wanted  in  the  forecastle,  a  sum- 
mons that  to  most  of  the  second  watch  seems  mysteri- 
ous. They  obey  it,  notwithstanding  ;  and  after  a  time 
the  two  sailors  come  down,  — the  nondescripts  without 
name,  one  passing  under  the  sobriquet  of  "  Old  Tarry  ; " 
1  he  other  having  had  bestowed  upon  him  the  equally 
distinctive,  but  less  hono.-able,  appellation  of  "Slush." 
Shortly  after,  the  second  mate,  Padilla,  makes  his  ap- 
pearance, along  with  him  Velarde. 

"Thcer  be  two  not  yit  among  us,"  says  Striker 
"In  coorse,  one's  ai  t!ie  wheel." 

k'  Yes.     Gomez  is  there,"  responds  Padilla. 

44  Where  be  Hernandez?" 

k<  I  don't  know.     Likely  along  with  h'm." 


THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Don't  much  matter,"  pats  in  Davis.  "  I  daresay 
we  can  settle  the  thing  without  either.  You  begin, 
Jack,  and  tell  Mr.  Padilla  and  the  rest  what  we've 
been  talking  about.". 

"  'Twon't  take  a  very  long  time  to  tell  it,"  responds 
Striker.  "  Theer  be  no  great  need  for  waslin*  words. 
All  I've  got  to  sa}T  are,  that  the  swag  in  this  ship  shud 
be  eelcilhj  divided.' ' 

Padilla  starts,  Velarde  doing  the  same.  "  What  do 
you  mean?"  asks  the  former,  putting  on  an  air  of 
surprised  innocence. 

"  I  means  what  I've  sa3red,  —  that  the  swag  shud  be 
eekilly  divided." 

"  And  3'et  I  don't  understand  3*011." 

"Yis,  3'e  do!  Come,  master  mate,  'tain't  no  use 
shammin'  ignorance,  not  wi'  Jack  Striker,  'tall  events. 
He  be  too  old  a  bird  to  get  cheated  wi'  chaff.  If  3-0 
want  to  throw  dust  into  nty  C3*es,  it  must  be  o'  tho 
sort  that's  stowed  aft  in  the  cabin.  Now,  d'3*e  under- 
stan'  me?" 

Padilla  looks  grave,  so  does  Velarde.  Old  Tarry 
and  Slush  show  no  sign  of  feeling ;  both  being  already 
apprised  of  the  demand  Striker  intended  to  make,  and 
having  given  their  promise  to  back  it. 

"  Well,"  says  the  second  mate,  "  3*011  appear  to  be 
talking  of  soire  gold-dust;  and  I  suppose  30U  know 
all  about  it?" 

"  That  we  do  !"  responds  Striker. 

•*  Well,  what  then?  "  asks  Padilla. 

"  Only  what  I've  sa3*ed,"  rejoins  the  S3*dney  Duck. 
"  If  3*oii  weesh,  I  can  say  it  over  'gain.  That  theer 
yellow  grit  shud  be  measured  out  to  the  crew  o'  this 
craft  share  an'  share  alike,  even  hands  all  roun,'  with- 
out respectin'  o'  persons.  An  '  it  shell  be  so  deevided 
—  shell,  an'  must." 


A.  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  297 

"  Yes/  indorses  Davis,  with  like  emphatic  affiiimv 
tion.     "  It  shall,  and  it  must !  " 

"  Pe  gar,  must  it!"  adds  the  Frenchman,  followed 
in  the  same  strain  b}'  Stronsen  the  Dane,  and  Van 
Houten  the  Dutchman,  chorused  by  Tarry  and  Slush. 

;;  It  an't  no  use  your  stannin'  out,  masters,"  contin- 
ues Striker,  addressing  himself  to  Padilla  and  Velarde. 
"  Ye  see,  the  majority's  again  ye  ;  an'  in  all  cases  o* 
the  kind,  wheresomever  I've  seed  'em,  the  majority 
means  the  right." 

"  Certainly  it  means  that !  "  echo  the  others  —  all  save 
Padilla  and  Velarde,  who  remain  silent  and  scowling. 

1 '  Yis,"  continues  Striker  ;  "an'  theer  be  one  who 
an't  present  among  us,  as  oughter  have  his  share  too." 

"Whom  are  you  speaking  of?  "  demands  Padilla. 

"  I  needn't  tell  ye,"  responds  Striker.  "  If  I  an't 
mistook,  that's  him  comin'  down  ;  an'  he  can  speak  for 
hisself." 

At  the  words  a  footstep  is  heard  upon  the  forecastle- 
stair.  A  pair  of  legs  is  seen  descending,  after  them 
a  body,  the  body  of  Harry  Blew. 

Padilla  looks  scared ;  Velarde  the  same.  Both 
fancy  their  conspiracy  discovered,  their  scheme  blown, 
and  that  Striker,  with  all  that  talk,  has  been  only  mis- 
leading them.  They  are  undeceived  on  hearing  what 
the  mate  has  to  say.  Striker  elicits  it  by  repeating 
the  conversation  that  has  passed. 

Thus  Harry  Blew  gives  rejoinder:  "I'm  with  ye, 
shipmates,  to  the  end — be  that  sweet  or  bitter.  Striker 
talks  straight ;  an'  his  seems  the  only  fair  way  of  set- 
tlin'  the  question.  The  majority  must  decide.  There's 
two  not  here,  an'  they've  got  to  be  consulted.  They're 
both  at  the  wheel.  Therefore  let's  all  go  aft,  an'  talk 
the  thing  there.     There's  no  fear  for  our  bein'  inter* 


298  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

rupted.     The  skipper's  asleep  ;  an'  we've  got  the  sLip 
to  ourselves." 

So  saying,  Blew  leads  up  the  ladder,  the  rest  start 
mg  from  their  seats,  and  crowding  after. 

Once  on  deck,  they  cluster  around  the  forehatch, 
and  there  stop  ;  the  first  mate  having  something  to  say 
before  going  aft.  The  second  does  not  take  part  in 
this  conference,  but,  stealing  past  unseen,  glides  on 
towards  the  after-part  of  the  ship.  Soon  the  others 
proceed  in  the  same  direction,  in  a  straggled  string, 
which  again  contracts  into  a  knot  as  they  reach  the 
open  quarter-deck,  by  the  capstan,  there  again  stop- 
ping. And  there,  the  moonlight,  falling  full  upon 
their  faces,  betra}-s  the  expression  of  men  in  mutiny, 
but  mutiny  unopposed.  On  the  quarter-deck  no  one 
questions  them  ;  for  the  traitorous  first  officer  has  spo- 
ken truly,  the  captain  is  asleep.  They  have  the  ship 
to  themselves. 

It  is  Gomez  who  is  at  the  wheel,  his  "  trick  "  having 
commenced  at  the  changing  of  watches.  He  is  not 
alone,  but  with  Hernandez  beside  him.  Neither  is 
yet  aware  of  the  strike  that  has  taken  place ;  though 
during  the  day  they  have  heard  some  whisperings,  and 
are  half  expecting  trouble  with  their  subordinates. 

Tac  theme  which  engages  them  is  altogether  differ- 
ent; beauty,  not  booty,  being  the  subject  of  their 
discourse,  which  is  carried  on  in  a  low  tone.  It  ia 
Hernandez  who  first  introduces  it,  asking,  — 

4 'About  the  girls?  What  are  we  to  do  wita  them 
after  getting  ashore?  " 

"  Marry  them,  of  course,"  promptly  answers  the 
other.  "  That's  what  I  mean  doing  with  the  beautiful 
Dona  Carmen.    Don't  3*011  intend  the  same  with  Inez  ? ,J 

"Of  course,  if  loan." 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  299 

"  Can !  There  need  be  no  difficulty  about  it,  cama* 
rado." 

"  I  hope  not ;  though  I  think  there  will,  and  a  good 
dsal.     There's  certain  to  be  some." 

"In  what  way?  " 

"  Suppose  they  don't  give  their  consent?  " 

"A  fig  for  their  consent!  The}'  must  consent. 
Donl  be  letting  that  scare  you.  Whether  they're 
agreealle  or  not,  we'll  have  a  marriage-ceremon}',  or 
the  form  of  one,  all  the  same.  I  can  fix  that,  or  I'm 
much  mistaken  about  the  place  we're  going  to,  and  the 
sort  of  men  we  shall  meet.  If  the  Padre  Padierna  be 
yet  alive,  he'll  many  me  to  Carmen  Montijo  without 
asking  her  an}*  questions,  or,  if  he  did,  caring  what  her 
answers  might  be.  And,  if  he's  under  ground,  I've  got 
another  string  to  my  bow  in  the  young  cura  Gonzaga, 
who  in  my  time  had  charge  of  souls  in  a  pueblita^ 
nearer  the  place  where  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  make 
shore.  And,  should  neither  of  these  my  old  acquaint- 
ances turn  up,  there  are  no  end  of  others  who  will  be 
willing  to  tie  the  knot  that's  to  make  3-011  happj*  for 
life.  I  tell  3-011,  hombre,  3'ou're  steering  straight 
towards  an  earthl}'  paradise :  3-ou'll  find  that  in  San- 
tiago." 

"  I  hope  it  ma}*  be  as  3-011  say." 

"  Yon  ma3r  rest  sure  of  it.  Once  in  the  old  Vera- 
gnan  town,  with  these  girls  as  our  wives,  and  they  no 
longer  able  to  question  our. calling  them  so,  we  can 
emer  society  without  fear  of  showing  our  faces.  And, 
with  this  big  bonanza  at  our  backs,  we  may  lead  a 
luxurious  life  there,  or  go  anywhere  else  it  pleases  us. 
As  for  returning  to  3-0111*  dear  California,  as  3-011  call  it, 
you  won't  care  for  that  when  3-011' ve  become  Benedict." 

"  You've  made  up  3-ou're  mind,  then,  that  we  marry 
them?" 


800  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

"Of  course  I  have,  and  for  certain  reasons >  other* 
wise  I  shouldn't  so  much  care,  now  that  the}''re  in  ou? 
power,  and  we  can  dictate  terras  to  them.  You  can  do 
as  you  please  respecting  marriage;  though  you  lave 
the  same  motive  as  myself  for  changing  3'our  sehsnla 
into  a  senora" 

"  What  do  you  allude  to?  " 

"  You  forget  that  both  these  damsels  have  large 
properties  in  Spain,  as  worthy  friend  Martinez  made 
me  aware  not  long  since.  The  Doha  Carmen  will  in- 
herit handsomely  at  her  father's  death,  which  is  much 
the  same  as  sa}ung  now.  I  don't  refer  to  his  gold,  but 
the  landed  property  he  has  elsewhere, — in  Biscay, 
which,  please  the  Fates,  I  shall  some  da}'  look  up,  and 
take  possession  of.  While  the  Doha  Inez  has  no  end 
of  acres  in  Andalusia,  besides  whole  streets  of  fine 
houses  in  Cadiz.  To  get  all  that,  these  girls  must  be 
our  wives ;  otherwise  we  should  have  no  claim  to  it, 
nor  be  able  to  show  our  faces  in  the  Peninsula." 

"  I've  known  all  along  about  the  Andalusian  estates. 
The  old  usurer  told  me,  too ;  said  he'd  advance  mon- 
ey on  them,  if  he  were  sure  of  my  marrying  the  lady. 
But,  if  you  believe  me,  it's  not  altogether  the  money 
that's  moving  me  in  this  whole  affair.  I'm  madly 
fond  of  the  girl,  —  so  fond,  that,  if  she  hadn't  a  claco 
in  the  world,  I  would  become  her  husband." 

"  Say,  rather,  her  master,  as  I  intend  to  be  of  Car- 
men Montijo.  Once  we  get  ashore,  I'll  teach  her  sub- 
mission. The  ha'.ghty  dame  will  learn  what  it  is  to  be 
a  wife;  and  if  not  an  obedient  one,  then,  por  Dios! 
she  shall  have  a  divorce  —  after  I've  squeezed  out  of 
her  that  Bisca3Tan  estate.  Then  she  can  go  free,  if  it 
so  please  her.     Mira!  what's  up  yonder?  " 

The  in'.errogatory  comes  from  his  observing  a  group 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA  301 

of  men  assembled  on  the  foredeck,  alongside  the  hatch. 
The  sk\T  cloudless,  with  a  full  moon  overhead,  shows 
it  to  be  composed  of  nearly,  if  not  all,  the  crew.  The 
light  also  displays  them  in  earnest  gesticulation ;  while 
their  voices,  borne  aft,  tell  of  some  subject  seriously 
debated. 

What  can  it  be?  The  men  of  the  first  watch,  long 
since  relieved,  should  be  asleep  in  their  bunks.  Why 
are  they  now  on  deck?  This  of  itself  surprises  the 
two  at  the  wheel.  And,  while  engaged  in  mitual  inter- 
rogation, they  perceive  the  second  mate  coming  aft, 
as,  also,  that  he  makes  approach  in  a  hurried  yet 
stealthy  manner. 

"  What's  up? "  asks  Gomez. 

"Trouble,"  answers  Padilla.  "A  mutiny  among 
the  men  we  engaged  to  assist  us." 

"  On  what  grounds  ?  " 

"  They've  got  to  know  all  about  the  gold-dust,  even 
the  exact  quantity  there  is  of  it." 

"  Indeed !     And  what's  their  demand?  " 

"  That  we  shall  share  it  with  them.  They  say  they'll 
have  it  so." 

"  The  dense  they  do  !  " 

"  The  old  ladrone,  Striker,  began  it.  But,  what  will 
astonish  you  still  more,  the  first  mate  knows  all  our 
plans,  and's  agreed  to  go  in  along  with  us.  He's  at 
the  head  of  the  mutineers,  and  insisting  on  the  same 
thing.  They  swear,  if  we  don't  divide  equally,  the 
strongest  will  take  what  they  can.  I've  stolen  aft  tc 
ask  3'ou  what  we'd  best  do." 

"  They're  determined,  are  the}'?  " 

"  To  the  death  —  they  say  so." 

"  In  that  case,"  mutters  Gomez,  after  a  moment  or 
two  spout  in  reflection,  "  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  yield 

25 


.502  THE  FLAG  OP  DISTRESS. 

to  their  demands.  I  see  no  help  for  it.  Go  back, 
Padilla,  and  say  something  to  pacify  them.  Maldital 
this  is  an  unexpected  difficult}',  ugly  as  sin." 

Padilla  is  about  to  return  to  his  discontented  ship* 
mates  on  the  forward-deck,  but  is  saved  the  journey, 
seeing  them  come  aft.  Nor  do  they  hesitate  cO  invade 
the  sacred  precincts  of  the  quarter ;  for  they  have  no 
fear  of  being  forbidden.  Soon  they  mount  up  to  the 
poop-deck,  and  cluster  around  the  wheel ;  the  whole 
"Condor's"  crew  now  present,  mates  as  men,  —  all 
save  the  captain  and  cook.  And  all  take  part  in  the 
colloquy  that  succeeds,  either  by  speech  or  gestures. 

The  debate  is  short,  and  the  question  in  dispute  soon 
decided.  Harry  Blew,  backed  by  the  ex-convicts,  talk? 
with  determination,  confirming  it  by  emphatic  exclama- 
tions. The  others,  with  interests  identical,  stand  by 
the  two  chief  speakers,  backing  them  up  with  words  and 
cries  of  encouragement. 

"  Shipmates,"  sa^-s  the  first  officer,  "  this  gold  we're 
all  after  should  be  equally  partitioned  between  us." 

"Must  be  !"  adds  Striker  with  an  oath.  "Share 
an'  share  alike.  It's  the  only  fair  way,  an'  the  only 
one  we'll  gie  in  to." 

"  Stick  to  that,  Striker  !  "  cries  Davis  :  "  we'll  stand 
by  ye." 

"  Pe  gar!  certainement,"  indorses  the  Frenchman. 
"  Vat  for  no?  Sacre  bleu!  vc  vill.  I  am  for  les  droits 
do  matelot,  le  vrai  democratique.     Vive  le  fair  play  !  " 

Dane  and  Dutchman,  with  Tarry  and  Slush,  speak  io 
the  same  strain.  The  scene  is  short  as  violent.  The 
Spaniards,  perceiving  themselves  in  a  minority,  and  a 
position  that  threatens  unpleasant  consequences,  give 
wa}r,  and  consent  to  an  equal  distribution  of  the  antici- 
pated spoil ;  after  which  the  men  belonging  to  the  off- 


A  STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA  303 

♦vafch  retire  to  the  forecastle,  and  there  betake  them- 
selves to  their  bunks,  while  the  others  scatter  about  the 
ship. 

Gil  Gomez  remains  at  the  wheel,  his  "trick"  not 
yet  being  over,  Hernandez  beside  him.  For  a  time 
the  two  are  silent,  their  brows  shadowed  with  gloom. 
I;  :s  not  pleasant  to  lose  some  fifty  thousand  dollars 
apiece ;  and  this  the}'  have  as  good  as  lost  within  the 
last  ten  minutes.  Still  there  is  a  reflection  to  soothe 
them  :  they  can  think  of  other  bright  skies  ahead. 

Gomez  first  returning  to  speak  of  them,  says,  — 

"  Never  mind,  amigo!  There  will  be  mone}'  enough 
to  serve  our  present  purposes,  all  the  same.  And,  for 
the  future,  we  can  both  build  on  a  good  sure  foundatiou.," 

"On  what?" 

"  On  our  '  castles  in  Spain.'  " 


CHAPTER    XL. 

"land  ho  ! " 

THE  voyage  Carmen  Montijo  and  Inez  Alvarez  are 
now  making  is  not  their  first.  Both  have  been 
at  sea  before,  ■ — in  the  passage  out  from  Spain.  But 
in  Carmen's  case  that  was  long  3-ears  ago  ;  while  Inez* 
absence  from  it  has  been  too  short  to  exempt  her  from 
the  mat  de  mer ;  and  both  of  them  alike  suffer  from  it. 
Stricken  down  b}T  it,  the}'  are  for  several  days  confined 
to  the  cabin,  most  of  the  time  to  their  state-room. 

In  their  affliction,  they  have  not  been  so  badly  at 
tended.     The  old  negro  cook,  acting  also  as  steward, 


304  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

comes  up  to  the  occasion  ;  for  lie  has  a  tender  heart 
under  his  rough  sable  skin,  and  waits  upon  them  with 
delicate  assiduity.  And  Capt.  Lantanas  is  equally 
assiduous  in  his  attentions,  placing  most  of  his  time 
at  their  disposal,  In  due  course  the}T  recover,  and 
after  a  day  or  two  waiting  for  fine  weather,  venture 
apon  deck. 

Daring  their  sojourn  below,  they  have  had  no  com- 
munication with  any  one,  save  Don  Gregorio,  —  who 
has  been,  like  themselves,  invalided, — of  course,  also 
the  captain  and  cook,  but  not  any  one  of  the  officers 
or  sailors  of  the  ship.  Indeed,  on  these  they  have 
never  set  eyes,  excepting  on  that  da}-  when  the}'  sailed 
out  through  the  Golden  Gate. 

And  now  they  wish  to  see  Harry  Blew,  and  speak 
with  him,  but  cannot.  Whatever  the  reason,  they  have 
been  a  long  time  upon  deck  without  finding  an  oppor- 
tunity to  communicate  witli  him  ;  and  the}'  wait  for  it 
with  irksome  impatience.  At  length,  however,  it  seems 
to  have  arrived.  He  is  in  the  waist,  with  several  of 
the  sailors  around  him,  occupied  about  one  of  the  boats 
there  slung  upon  its  davits.  While  regarding  him  and 
his  movements,  the}-  cannot  avoid  observing  those  be- 
side him,  nor  help  being  struck  by  them  ;  not  so  much 
their  movements,  as  their  features,  and  the  expression 
there  exhibited.  On  no  one  of  them  is  it  pleasant, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  scowling  and  savage. 

Just  then  Harry,  separating  from  the  sailors,  is 
seen  coming  aft.  It  is  in  obedience  to  a  message 
which  the  black  cook  has  brought  up  out  of  the  cabin, 
-  -  an  order  from  Capt.  Lantanas  for  his  first  officer  t<? 
meet  him  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  assist  him  in  "  taking 
the  sun."  But  the  skipper  himself  has  not  }~et  come 
3p  ;  and,  on  reaching  the  quarter,  the  ex-man- o'  -war's 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  805 

man,  for  the  first  time  since  he  shipped  on  the  Chilian 
craft,  finds  himself  alone  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies 
They  salute  him  with  an  empressement  which,  to  their 
surprise,  is  but  coldly  returned ;  only  a  slight  bow, 
after  which  he  appears  to  busy  himself  with  the  log< 
slate  lying  on  the  capstan-head.  One  closely  scruti- 
nizing him,  however,  would  see  that  this  is  pretence  ; 
for  his  eyes  are  not  on  the  slate,  but  furtively  turned 
towards  the  ship's  waist,  watching  the  men,  from 
whom  he  has  just  parted,  and  who  seem  to  have  their 
eyes  upon  him. 

The  young  ladies  thus  repulsed,  almost  rudely  as 
they  take  it,  make  no  further  attempt  to  bring  on  a 
conversation,  but,  forsaking  their  seats,  retire  down  the 
companion-stairs,  keeping  on  to  their  own  state-room, 
there  to  talk  over  a  disappointment  that  has  given 
chagrin  to  both,  but  which  neither  can  satisfactorily 
explain.  The  more  they  canvass  the  conduct  of  the 
Englishman,  the  stranger  it  seems  to  them,  and  the 
greater  grows  their  chagrin.  For  now  they  feel  almost 
sure  that  something  must  have  happened,  —  that  same 
thing,  whatever  it  be,  which  dictated  those  parting 
compliments  so  cold  and  unfeeling.  The}'  seem  doubly 
so  now ;  for  now  they  have  evidence  that  such  was  the 
sentiment,  —  almost  proof  of  it  in  the  behavior  of 
Harry  Blew.  He  must  know  the  feelings  of  his  patron, 
—  the  preserver  of  his  life,  —  how  the}7  stood  at  their 
last  parting  ;  and  from  this  he  has  taken  his  cue  to  act 
as  he  is  doing.  Only  in  such  sense  can  the  ladies 
account  for  his  reticence,  if  not  rudeness. 

They  are  hurt  by  it,  stung  to  the  quick,  and  nevei 
again  during  that  voyage  do  they  attempt  entering  into 
com  ersation  with  the  first  officer  of  the  ' '  Condor  ; ' 
only  on  rare  occasions  showing  themselves  on  deck,  &a 

26* 


806  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

if  they  disliked  looking  upon   him  who   too    vividly 
reminds  them  of  the  treason  of  their  lovers. 

Can  it  be  treason?  And,  if  so  why?  Tkcy  ask 
these  questions  with  eyes  bent  upon  their  fingers,  --on 
rings  encircling  them,  placed  there  by  those  the}'  are 
thinking  about.  That  of  itself  should  be  sufficient 
proof  of  their  loyalty.  Yet  it  is  not ;  for  love  is  above 
all  things  suspicious  ;  however  doting,  ever  doubting. 
Even  on  this  evidence  of  its  reliability  thc}T  no  longer 
lean,  and  can  scarce  console  themselves  with  the  hope 
hitherto  sustaining  them.  Farther  off  than  ever  seems 
the  realizing  of  that  sweet  expectation  founded  upon 
two  words  still  ringing  in  their  ears,  "  Hasia  Cadiz!  " 

And  thus  the  time  somewhat  tediously  passes,  till 
the}7  hear  two  other  words  of  cheerful  import,  "  Land 
Ho ! " 

The  cry  comes  from  one  of  the  sailors  stationed  on 
the  foretopmast  cross-trees  of  the  "  Condor."  Since 
sunrise,  a  lookout  has  been  kept  as  the  hands  could  be 
spared.  It  is  now  near  noon  ;  and  land  has  just  been 
sighted. 

Capt.  Lantanas  is  not  quite  certain  of  what  land  it 
is.  He  knows  it  as  the  Veraguan  coast,  but  does  not 
recognize  the  particular  place.  Noon  coming  on  with 
an  unclouded  sky,  enables  him  to  catch  the  sun  in  its 
meridian  altitude,  and  so  make  him  sure  of  a  good 
sight.  And  as  the  Chilian  skipper  is  a  skilled  observer, 
having  confidence  in  the  observations  he  has  made,  the 
land  sighted  should  be  the  Island  of  Coiba,  or  an  islet 
that  covers  it,  called  Hicaron.  Both  are  off  the  coast 
of  Veragna,  westward  from  Panama  Bay,  and  about  d 
hundred  miles  from  its  mouth.  Into  this  the  "  Condor  ' 
is  seeking  to  make  entrance. 

Having  ciphered  out  his  noon  reckoning,  the  skipper 


•    A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  307 

enters  it  in  his  log  :  "  Lat.  7°  20'  N.  Long.  8S  12'  \Y. 
Wind  W.S.W.  Light  breeze."  While  penning  these 
slight  memoranda,  little  does  he  dream  of  what  signifi- 
cance they  ma}'  one  day  become.  The  night  before, 
while  taking  an  observation  of  the  stars,  could  he  have 
read  them  astrologicalty,  he  might  have  discoveicd 
miny  a  chance  against  his  ever  making  another  entry 
in  that  log-book. 

A  wind  west-sou'-west  is  favorable  for  entering  the 
Bay  of  Panama.  A  ship  steering  around  Cabo  Mala, 
once  she  has  weathered  this  much-dreaded  headland, 
will  have  it  on  her  starboard  quarter.  But  the  "  Con- 
dor," coming  down  from  north,  gets  it  nearly  abeam; 
and  her  captain,  perceiving  he  has  run  a  little  too  much 
coastwise,  cries  out  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  "Hard 
a-starboard  !  Put  the  helm  down  !  Keep  well  off  the 
land.!  "  Saying  this,  he  lights  a  cigarrito,  for  a  minute 
or  two  amuses  himself  with  his  monkeys,  always  play 
ful  at  meeting  him  ;  then,  ascending  to  the  poop-deck, 
he  enters  into  conversation  with  company  more  refined 
— his  lady  passengers. 

The  sight  of  terra  firma,  with  the  thought  of  soon 
setting  foot  on  it,  makes  all  joyous  ;  and  Capt.  Lanta- 
nas  adds  to  their  exhilaration  by  assuring  them,  that  in 
less  than  twenty-four  hours  he  will  enter  the  Bay  of 
Panama,  and  in  twenty-four  after  bring  his  bark 
alongside  the  wharf  of  that  ancient  port,  so  oft  pilkged 
by  filibusteros. 

After  staying  an  hour  or  so  on  deck,  indulging  in 
cheerful  conversation  and  pleasant  anticipations,  the 
tropic  sun  becoming  too  sultry  for  comfort,  one  and  all 
retire  to  the  cabin  for  shade,  and  to  take,  siesta;  the 
last  being  a  habit  of  all  Spanish  Americans.  The 
Chilian  skipper  is  also  accustomed  to  have  his  afternoon 


308  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

nap.  There  is  no  nee  J  for  his  remaining  longer  on 
deck.  He  has  determined  his  latitude,  figured  up  his 
dead-reckoning,  and  set  the  "  Condor  "  on  her  course. 
Sailing  on  a  sea  without  icebergs,  or  other  dangerous 
obstructions,  he  can  go  to  sleep  without  any  anxiety 
on  his  mind.  But,  before  lying  down,  he  summons  the 
cook,  and  gives  orders  for  a  dinner,  to  be  dressed  in 
the  very  best  style  the  ship's  stores  can  furnish  ;  thia 
in  celebration  of  the  event  of  their  having  sighted  land. 

For  a  time  the  "Condor's"  decks  appear  deserted. 
No  one  seen,  save  the  helmsman  at  the  wheel,  and 
the  second  mate  standing  by  his  side.  The  sailors  not 
on  duty  have  betaken  themselves  to  the  forecastle,  or 
are  lolling  in  their  bunks  ;  while  those  of  the  working- 
watch  —  with  no  work  to  do  —  have  sought  shady 
quarters,  to  escape  from  the  sun's  heat,  now  excessive  ; 
for  the  wind  has  been  gradually  d}Ting  away,  and  is 
now  so  light,  that  the  vessel  scarce  makes  steerage- 
way. 

Odd,  though,  the  direction  in  which  the  breeze  is 
now  striking  her.  It  is  upon  the  starboard  quarter, 
instead  of  the  beam  as  it  should  be,  and  as  Capt. 
Lantanas  left  it  on  going  below.  Since  then  the  wind 
has  not  shifted,  even  a  single  point :  therefore  the 
"Condor"  must  have  changed  her  course.  Beyond 
doubt  has  she  done  this  ;  the  man  at  the  wheel  having 
put  the  helm  up,  instead  of  doiv?i,  causing  her  to  draw 
closer  to  the  land,  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  orders 
of  her  captain. 

Is  it  ignorance  on  the  steersman's  part?  No :  it  can- 
not be.  Gil  Gomez  is  at  the  helm,  and,  being  a  tolera- 
ble seaman,  should  know  how  to  handle  it.  Besides, 
Padilla  is  standing  by ;  and  the  second  mate,  whatever 
his  moral  qualities,  is  quite  equal  to  the  "  conning" 


A   STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  309 

of  a  ahip.  He  cannot  fail  to  observe  that  the  bark  is 
running  too  much  inshore.  Why  has  he  not  obeyoJ 
the  orders  left  by  the  captain?  " 

The  words  passing  between  the  two  tell  why. 

"  You  know  all  about  the  coast  in  there?  "  queries 
Padilla,  pointing  to  land  looming  up  on  the  port-side. 

"  Ever}'  inch  of  it :  at  least,  sufficient  to  make  sure 
of  a  place  where  we  can  put  in.  That  headland  rising 
the  port-bow  is  Punta  Marieta.  We  must  stand  well 
in,  taking  care  not  to  round  it  before  evening.  If  we 
did,  and  the  breeze  should  blow  off  shore,  which  it  will, 
we'd  have  trouble  to  make  back.  Therefore  we  must 
hug  close,  and  keep  under  shelter  of  the  land.  With 
this  light  wind  we  won't  make  much  wa}'  before  night- 
fall. Then,  in  the  darkness,  when  they're  below  at 
dinner,  we  can  put  about,  and  run  along  till  we  sight  a 
likebr  landing-place." 

"  So  far  as  being  looked  after  by  Lantanas.  -f<?  need 
have  no  fear.  To-daj-  the  cabin-dinner  is  to  be  a 
grand  spread.  I  overheard  his  orders  to  iLvt  effect. 
He  intends  making  things  pleasant  for  hi/  f.&ssengers 
before  parting  with  them.  As  a  matter  o.(  <:curse,  he'll 
keep  all  night  below,  and  get  fuddled  to  boot,  which 
may  spare  us  some  trouble.  It  looks  like  nick,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  Not  much  matter  about  that,"  rejoins  Gomez: 
"  it'll  have  to  end  all  the  same.  Only,  33  3-ou  sajr,  the 
skipper  below  will  make  it  a  little  easier,  and  save  some 
unpleasantness  in  the  way  of  blood-spilling.  After 
dinner,  the  senoritas  are  sure  to  come  on  deck.  They've 
done  so  every  night ;  and  I  hope  they  won't  make  this 
one  an  exception.  If  Don  Gregorio  and  the  skipper 
stay  below  "  — 

The  dialogue  is  interrupted  by  the  sti iking  cf  bells, 


310  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

to  summon  the  second  dog-watch  on  duty.  Soon  a* 
the  change  is  effected,  Harry  Blew  takes  charge,  Striker 
relieving  Gomez  at  the  wheel.  Just  at  this  instant 
the  head  of  Capt.  Lantanas  shows  above  the  coamings 
of  the  companion-stair.  Gomez,  seeing  him,  darts 
back  to  the  wheel,  gives  a  strong  pull  at  the  spoke;, 
Striker  assisting  him,  so  as  to  bring  the  bark's  heat! 
up,  and  the  wind  upon  her  beam. 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaims  the  skipper  angrily, 
rushing  up  the  companion-stair,  and  out  to  the  rail. 

What  sees  he  there  to  evoke  such  an  exclamation  ?  A 
high  promontory,  almost  abutting  against  the  bows  of 
his  ship.  At  a  glance  he  identifies  it  as  Ponta  Marieta  ; 
for  he  knows  the  headland  well,  but  also  knows  it 
should  not  be  on  the  bow,  had  his  instructions  to  tho 
steersman  been  attended  to. 

"  Que  cosaV  lie  cries  in  a  bewildered  way,  rubbing 
his  eyes  to  make  sure  they  are  not  deceiving  him,  then 
interrogating,  "  "What  does  this  mean,  sir?  You've 
been  keeping  too  close  inshore :  the  very  contrary  to 
what  I  commanded.     Helm  down  —  hard  !  " 

He  at  the  wheel  obeys,  bringing  the  bark  as  close  to 
the  wind  as  she  can  bear.  Then  the  skipper,  turning 
angrily  upon  him,  demands  to  know  wiry  his  first  in- 
structions have  not  been  carried  out. 

The  ex-convict  excuses  himself,  saying  that  he  lias 
just  commenced  his  "  trick,"  and  knows  nothing  of 
what  has  been  done  before.  -He  is  keeping  the  "  Con- 
dor "  on  the  same  course  she  was  in  when  he  took  her 
from  the  last  steersman. 

The  puzzled  skipper  again  rubs  his  eyes,  and  takes  a 
fresh  look  at  the  coast-line.  He  is  as  much  mystified 
as  ever.  Still  the  mistake  may  have  been  his  own ; 
and,  as  he  can  perceive  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  yel 
clearing  the  point,  his  anger  cools  down. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  311 

Soon  the  "  Condor,"  hauled  close  to  the  wind, 
regains  her  lost  weatherway,  sufficient  for  the  doubling 
of  Punta  Marie ta ;  and,  before  the  last  bells  of  the 
second  dog-watch  are  sounded,  she  is  in  a  fair  course 
for  rounding  the  cape.  The  difficulty  has  been  removed 
by  the  wind  veering  suddenly  round  to  the  opposite 
point  of  the  compass.  For  it  is  now  near  night,  and 
the  land-breeze  has  commenced  blowing  off  shore. 
Well  acquainted  with  the  .  coast,  and  noticing  the 
change  of  wind,  Capt.  Lantanas  knows  all  danger  is 
past ;  and,  with  the  tranquillity  of  his  temper  restored, 
he  goes  back  into  his  cabin  to  join  his  passengers  at 
dinner,  which  is  just  in  the  act  of  being  served. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

PANAMA,     OR    SANTIAGO? 

IT  is  the  hour  for  setting  the  first  night-watch  ;  and 
the  bells  have  been  struck,  not  to  summon  any 
sailor,  but  only  intended  for  the  cars  of  Capt.  Lan- 
tanas in  the  cabin  below,  lest  the  absence  of  the  usual 
sound  should  awake  suspicion.  The  men  of  both 
watches  are  on  deck,  assembled  b}r  the  manger-board, 
to  take  measures  for  carrying  out  their  scheme  of  piracy 
and  plunder,  now  on  the  eve  of  execution.  The  gen- 
eral plan  is  already  understood  b}r  all:  it  but  remains 
to  settle  some  final  details. 

Considering  the  atrocity  of  their  design,  it  is  painful 
to  see  the  first  mate,  Harry  Blew,  in  their  midst.  O 
nun!     O   British  sailor!    where  is  your  gratitude? 


812  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

What  has  become  of  your  honor  3'our  oath  ?  The  first 
gone,  the  second  disregarded,  the  last  broken ! 

Soon  as  together,  the  pirates  enter  upon  discussion. 
The  first  question  which  comes  before'  them  is  about 
the  place  where  they  shall  land.  Upon  this  point  there 
is  difference  of  opinion.  Some  are  for  going  ashore  at 
once,  on  that  part  of  the  coast  in  sight.  Others  coun- 
sel running  on  till  they  enter  Panama  Bay.  At  the 
head  of  those  in  favor  of  the  latter  course  is  the  chief 
mate  ;  while  the  majority,  controlled  by  Gomez  and 
Padilla;  take  an  opposite  view.  Gomez,  who  is  their 
spokesman,  argues  in  favor  of  landing,  soon  as  they 
can  find  a  suitable  place,  and  making  direct  for  San- 
tiago, the  chief  town  of  Veragua.  He  gives  his  rea- 
sons, saying,  — 

"  It  isn't  over  a  good  day's  journey  from  the  coast. 
And  we  can  reach  it  by  an  easy  road.  But  that's  not 
the  thing  of  greatest  importance.  What  most  concerns 
us  is  the  safety  of  the  place  when  we  get  to  it ;  and  I 
can  answer  for  Santiago.  Unless  customs  have  changed 
since  I  used  to  trifle  away  some  time  there,  and  people 
too,  we'll  find  those  who'll  show  us  hospitality.  With 
the  money  at  our  disposal,  —  ay,  a  tenth  part  of  it,  —  I 
could  buy  up  the  alcalde  of  the  town,  and  every  judge 
in  the  province." 

"  That's  the  sort  of  town  for  us,  and  country  too !  " 
exclaim  several  in  a  breath. 

"We'll  first  have  to  put  about,''  explains  Gomez, 
"  and  run  along  the  coast  till  we  find  an  opening  in 
the  reef." 

"  Yes,"  rejoins  Harry  Blew,  speaking  satirically, 
and  as  if  annoyed  by  the  majority  going  against  him. 
"  An',  if  we  put  about  just  now,  we'll  stand  a  good 
chance  of  goby  slap  on  trem  rocks  on  the  port-beam 


A  STORY  OF   TTOi   SOUTH   SEA.  '.13 

Thar's  a  line  o'  whitecaps  along  shoro  far's  I  can  see* 
How's  a  boat  to  be  got  through  them?  She'd  be  bilged 
to  a  sartinty." 

"There  are  breakers."  admits  Gomez,  "but  not 
continuous.  I  remember  there  are  several  openings 
where  a  boat,  or  a  ship  for  that  matter,  may  be  safely 
got  through." 

"  Vaya,  camarados !  "  exclaims  Padilla  with  a  ges- 
ture of  impatience.  "  We're  wasting  time,  which  just 
now  is  valuable.  Let's  have  the  bark  about,  and 
stand  along  the  coast,  as  Gil  Gomez  proposes.  I 
second  his  proposal ;  but,  if  you  like,  let  it  go  to  a 
vote." 

"  No  need  :  we  all  agree  to  it." 

"Yes,  all  of  us." 

"  Wrell,  shipmates,"  says  Harry  Blew,  seeing  him 
self  obliged  to  give  wa}r,  and  conceding  the  point  with 
apparent  reluctance,  "if  3-e're  all  in  favor  o'  steerin' 
up  coast,  I  an't  goin'  to  stand  out  against  it.  It  be 
the  same  to  me  one  way  or  t'other.  So  to  Santiago 
let's  go.  But,  if  the  bark's  to  be  put  about,  I  tell  ye 
there's  no  time  to  be  lost :  otherways,  we'll  go  into 
them  whitecaps  sure,  the  which  wud  send  this  craft 
to  Davy  Jones  sooner  than  we  intended." 

"  Plenty  of  sea-room,"  says  the  second  mate,  "  if 
we  about  with  her  at  once." 

"  You  see  to  it,  Padilla,"  directs  Gomez,  who,  from 
hi3  Buccess  in  having  his  plan  adopted  in  opposition 
to  that  of  the  first  officer,  thinks  he  may  now  take 
command. 

The  second  mate  starts  aft,  and,  going  up  to  the 
helmsman,  whispers  a  word  or  two  in  his  ear.  In- 
stantly the  helm  is  put  hard  up  ;  and  the  bark,  pnyinu 
off,  wears  round  from   east  to  west-nor'-west.      The 

27 


314  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTKESS. 

sailors  at  the  same  time  brace  about  her  yards,  ani 
trim  her  sails  for  the  changed  course,  executing  the 
manoeuvre,  not,  as  is  usual,  with  a  chorused  chant,  but 
silently,  as  if  the  ship  were  a  spectre,  and  her  crew 
but  shadows. 

The  bark  is  now  about  a  league's  distance  from 
land;  and  halfway  between  are  the  breakers,  their 
roar  sounding  ominousry  through  the  calm  quiet  of  the 
night.  The  vessel  making  but  little  way,  —  only  two 
or  three  knots  an  hour,  —  one  proposes  that  the  boat  be 
lowered  at  once,  and  such  traps  as  the}'  intend  taking 
put  into  her.  In  such  a  tranquil  sea  it  will  tow  along- 
side in  safety.  As  this  will  be  so  much  work  in  ad- 
vance, the  plan  is  approved  of,  and  the}'  proceed  to 
its  execution  ;  the  pinnace  being  selected  as  the  most 
suitable  boat  for  beaching.  Clustering  around  it,  the}' 
commence  operations.  Two  leap  lightly  into  it,  ship 
the  rudder,  secure  the  oars  and  boat-hooks,  clear  the 
life-lines,  and  cast  off  the  lanyards  of  the  gripes ;  the 
others  holding  the  fall-tackle  in  hand,  to  sec  that  they 
are  clear  for  running.  Then,  taking  a  prop:r  turn,  they 
lower  away. 

Other  movements  succeed  ;  the  pirates  passing  to 
and  from  the  forecastle,  canying  canvas  bags,  and 
bundles  of  clothing,  with  such  other  of  their  belong- 
ings as  the}'  deem  necessaiy  for  a  debarkation  like  that 
intended.  A  barrel  of  pork,  another  of  biscuit,  and  a 
beaker  of  water,  are  also  turned  out,  and  handed  dowu 
into  the  boat,  not  forgetting  a  keg  containing  rum, 
and  several  bottles  of  wine  the}-  have  purloined  from 
the  ship's  stores. 

In  silence,  but  with  no  great  show  of  caution  or 
stealth,  are  all  these  movements  made.  The}' have  but 
little  fear  of  being  detected  ;  some  scarce  caring  if  they 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  315 

oe.  Indeed,  there  is  no  one  to  observe  ihem  who  is 
not  taking  part ;  for  the  negro  cook,  after  dressing 
the  dinner  and  serving  it,  has  gone  out  of  the  galley 
for  good,  and  now,  acting  as  steward,  kee^s  below  in 
the  cabin,  waiting  on  the  guests  at  table. 

Soon  eveiy  thing  is  stowed  awa}'  in  the  pinnace, 
except  that  which  is  to  form  its  most  precious  freight ; 
and  again  the  piratical  crew  bring  their  heads  together 
to  arrange  about  the  final  step,  the  time  to  take  which 
is  fast  drawing  nigh.  A  thing  so  serious  calls  for  calm 
deliberation  ;  or,  at  all  events,  there  must  be  a  thorough 
understanding  among  them,  for  it  is  the  disposal  of 
those  they  have  destined  as  the  victims  of  their  villany. 
All  quite  understand  how  this  is  to  be  done,  though 
nothing  definite  has  yet  been  said  of  it :  even  the  most 
hardened  among  them  shrinks  from  putting  it  in  plain 
words.  Still  is  it  tacitly  understood  the  ladies  are  to  be 
taken  along,  the  others  to  be  dealt  with  in  a  different 
way. 

For  a  time  they  stand  silent,  waiting  for  one  who 
has  the  hardihood  to  speak.  There  is  one  who  has  all 
this,  —  a  ruffian  of  unmitigated  type,  whose  breast  is 
not  moved  bjT  the  slightest  throb  of  humanity.  It  is  the 
second  mate,  Padilla.  Breaking  silence,  he  says, 
"  Let's  get  the  women  into  the  boat,  and  heave  the 
others  overboard,  and  have  done  with  it." 

The  horrible  proposition,  despite  the  auditory  to 
whom  it  is  addressed,  does  not  find  favorable  response. 
Several  speak  in  opposition  to  it,  Harry  Blew  first  and 
loudest.  Though  broken  his  word,  and  forfeited  his 
faith,  the  British  sailor  is  not  so  abandontd  as  to  con- 
template murder  in  such  a  cool,  deliberate  manner. 
Some  of  those  around  him  have  no  doubt  committed 
it ;  but  he  does  not  yet  feel  up  to  it.     Opposing  i^a* 


316  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

dilla's  counsel,  he  says,  "What  need  for  our  kdlin' 
them  at  all?     For  m}r  part,  T  don't  see  any." 

"And,  for  your  part,  what  would  you  do?'  sneer- 
mgly  retorts  the  second  mate. 

"  Give  them  a  chance  for  their  lives." 

"  How?  "  promptly  asks  Padilla. 

"  Why,  if  we  set  the  bark's  head  out  to  sea,  and 
trim  her  sails  right,  as  the  wind's  off-shore,  she'd  soon 
rarry  them  beyont  sight  o'  land  ;  and  we'd  niver  hear 
another  word  about  'em." 

"Carrcd!"  exclaims  Padilla  scornfully.  "That 
would  be  a  wise  way,  —  just  the  one  to  get  our  throats  in 
the  garrota!  You  forget  that  Don  Gregorio  Montijo  is 
a  man  of  the  big  grandee  kind ;  and,  should  he  ever 
set  foot  ashore  after  what  we'd  done  to  him,  he'd 
have  influence  enough  to  make  most  places,  if  not  the 
whole  of  the  earth,  too  hot  for  us.  There's  an  old  saw 
about  dead  men  telling  no  tales.  No  doubt  most  of 
you  have  heard  it,  and  some  know  it  to  be  a  true  one. 
Take  my  advice,  camarados,  and  let  us  act  up  to  it. 
What's  3'our  opinion,  Seiior  Gomez?  " 

"  Since  3-ou  ask  for  it,"  responds  Gomez,  speaking 
for  the  first  time  on  this  special  matter,  "my  opinion 
is,  that  there's  no  need  for  airy  difference  among  us. 
Mr.  Blew's  against  killing  them ;  and  so  would  I  if  it 
could  be  avoided.  But  it  can't  with  safety  to  ourselves, 
—  at  least  not  in  the  way  he  has  suggested.  To  do  as 
he  says  would  be  madness  on  our  part,  more,  it  might  be 
suicide.  I  think  I  know  a  way  that  will  save  us  from 
actually  murdering  them,  and  secure  our  own  safety  all 
the  same." 

"  What  way?  "  demand  several  voices. 

"One  simple  enough,  —  so  simple,  I  wonder  you 
toaven't  all  thought  of  it,  as  well  as  I.     Of  courso  we 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  317 

mtond  sending  this  pretty  craft  o  the  bottom  of  the 
Bea  ;  but  she  is  not  likely  to  go  down  till  we're  a  good 
way  off,  altogether  out  of  sight.  We  can  leave  them 
aboard,  and  let  them  slip  quietly  down  along  with 
her." 

"  Why,  that's  just  what  Blew  proposes,"  say  several. 

"True,"  returns  Gomez,  "but  not  exactly  as  1 
mean  it.  He'd  leave  them  free  to  go  about  the  ship, 
perhaps  get  off  her  when  she  sinks,  on  a  sofa,  or  spar, 
or  something." 

"Then  how  would  you  do  with  them?"  asks  one 
impatiently. 

"Bind  the  gentlemen  before  bidding  them  adieu." 

"Bah!  "  exclaims  Padilla,  a  monster  to  whom  cold 
blood  seems  congenial.  "  What's  the  use  of  being  at 
all  that  bother  ?  It's  sure  to  bring  trouble.  The  skipper 
will  resist ;  and  so'll  the  old  Don.  What  then?  We'll 
be  compelled  to  knock  them  on  the  head  all  the  same, 
or  toss  them  overboard.  So  let's  put  a  stopper  on 
them  at  once  !" 

"Why,  man!"  cries  Striker,  hitherto  only  a  lis- 
tener, but  a  backer  of  Harry  Blew :  "  you  'pear  to  'a 
been  practisin'  a  queer}'  plan  in  jobs  o'  this  sort. 
That  o'  Gomez  be  far  the  best  way,  —  same  as  I've  seed 
in  the  Australian  bush,  where  they  an't  so  blood- 
thirsty. When  they  stick  up  a  chap  theer,  so  long's 
he  don't  cut  up  nasty,  they  settle  things  by  splicin* 
him  to  a  tree,  an'  leavin'  him  to  his  meditashuns. 
Why  can't  we  do  the  same  wi'  the  skipper  an'  the  Don, 
supposin'  'em  to  show  refractory?  " 

"That's  it!"  exclaims  Davis,  strengthening  the 
proposal  thus  indorsed  by  his  chum  Striker.  "  My  ole 
pal's  got  the  correct  idea  of  sich  things." 

"  Besides,"  continues  the  older  of  the  ex-con*,  icts 
27* 


818  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"  this  job  seems  to  me  simple  enuf.  We  want  the 
swag;  an'  some  seems  to  be  wantin'  the  gnls.  Well, 
we  can  git  both  'ithout  the  needcessity  o'  doin'  mur- 
der!" 

"I  tell  you  what,"  interposes  Hairy  Blew,  "  fir 
myself,  as  I've  said,  I  object  to  killing,  or  the  sight  o' 
blood,  where  it  an't  a  absolute  needcessity.  True,  by 
leavin'  them  aboard,  an'  tied,  as  Mr.  Gomez  advises ; 
the3r'll  get  drowned  for  sartin ;  but  it'll  keep  oui 
hands  clear  o'  red  murder." 

"  That's  true  !  "  cry  several  in  assent.  "Let's  take 
the  Australian  way  of  it,  and  tie  them  up  !  " 

The  assenting  voices  are  in  the  majority ;  and  the 
compromise  suggested  by  Gomez  is  carried.  So  far 
every  thing  is  fixed.  It  but  remains  to  arrange  about 
the  action,  and  apportion  to  every  one  his  part.  This 
is  soon  settled.  The  first  officer,  assisted  by  Davis,  who 
has  some  knowledge  of  ship  carpentry,  is  to  see  to  the 
scuttling  of  the  vessel ;  Velarde  and  Hernandez  to 
take  charge  of  the  girls,  and  get  them  into  the  boat ; 
Gomez  to  see  to  the  steering  of  the  vessel ;  the  second 
mate  to  head  the  party  intrusted  with  the  seizure  of 
the  gold ;  while  Striker  and  the  Frenchman  are  to  tie 
up  the  unfortunate  men  whose  lives  are  to  be  sacrificed. 
The  atrocious  plan  is  complete  in  all  its  revolting  'le- 
tails,  the  hour  of  its  execution  at  hand. 


A  STOBY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  319 


CHAPTER  XLH. 

THE     DREADED    TINTORERAS. 

WITH  all  sail  set,  the  bark  glides  silently  on  — 
to  her  doom.  Gomez  has  taken  charge  of  the 
steering,  he  alone  having  any  knowledge  of  the  coast. 
They  are  less  than  a  league  from  land,  shaving  close 
alon^  the  outer  ed^e  of  the  breakers.  The  breeze  now 
blowing  off-shore  makes  it  easy  to  keep  clear  of  them. 

There  is  high  land  on  the  starboard-bow,  gradually 
drawing  more  distinct.  Gomez  fancies  he  remembers 
it,  and  soon  is  sure  ;  for  in  the  clear  moonlight  is  dis- 
closed the  outline  of  a  hill,  which,  once  seen,  could  not 
easily  be  forgotten,  —  a  cerro  with  two  summits,  and  a 
col,  or  saddle-like  depression,  between. 

Yes,  he  is  certain  he  has  seen  that  double-headed 
hill  before :  still,  though  a  conspicuous  landmark,  it 
does  not  point  out  any  landing-place,  only  that  they 
are  entering  the  great  gulf  which  here  indents  the 
Veraguan  coast. 

As  the  bark  moves  on,  bringing  the  hill  abeam,  he 
sees  a  reach  of  clear  water  opening  inland ;  to  all  ap- 
pearance a  bay,  with  mouth  miles  in  width. 

He  would  run  into  it,  but  is  forbidden  by  the  break- 
ers, whose  froth-crested  belt  extends  across  its  entrance 
from  cape  to  cape.  Running  past,  he  again  close?  on 
the  land,  now  within  less  than  a  league,  and  soon  has 
the  two-headed  hill  abeam,  its  singular  silhouette  con- 
spicuous against  the  moonlit  sky,  all  the  more  from  the 


820  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTKESS. 

moon  being  bej'oncl  and  low  down,  showing  betweet 
the  twin  summits  like  a  great  globe  lamp  there  suspend- 
ed. When  nearly  opposite,  he  observes  an  open  space 
in  the  line  of  breakers,  easily  told  by  its  dark  tranquil 
surface,  which  contrasts  with  the  white  horse-tails  lash 
ing  up  on  each  side  of  it. 

Soon  as  sighting  it,  Gomez  drops  the  wheel,  intrust- 
ing it  to  the  Dutch  sailor  as  he  does  so,  giving  the 
latter  directions  how  to  steer.  Then  leaving  the  poop, 
he  proceeds  towards  the  ship's  waist,  where  he  finds 
all  the  others  read}' for  action,  —  Striker  and  La  Crosse 
with  pieces  of  rope  for  making  fast  the  ill-fated  men  ; 
Padilla  and  his  party  armed  with  axes  and  crowbars, 
the  ke3Ts  with  which  they  intend  to  open  the  locker- 
doors. 

Near  the  mainmast  stands  the  first  mate,  a  lighted 
lantern  in  his  hand ;  Davis  beside  him,  with  auger, 
mallet,  and  chisel.  The3r  arc  by  the  main-hatchway, 
which  the}'  have  opened,  evidently  intending  descent 
Into  the  hold.  With  the  lantern  concealed  under  the 
skirt  of  his  ample  dreadnought,  Harry  Blew  stands 
within  the  shadow  of  the  mast,  as  if  reflecting  on  his 
faithlessness,  ashamed  to  let  his  face  be  seen.  He 
even  seems  reluctant  to  proceed  in  the  black  business, 
while  affecting  the  opposite.  As  the  others  are  now 
occupied  in  various  ways,  with  their  ej'es  off  him,  he 
steps  out  to  the  ship's  side,  and  looks  over  the  rail. 
The  moon  is  now  full  upon  his  face,  which,  under  her 
soft  innocent  beams,  shows  an  expression  difficult  as 
ever  to  interpret.  The  most  skilled  physiognomist 
could  not  read  it.  There  is  sign  of  more  than  one 
emotion  striving  within  his  breast,  mingling  together, 
or  succeeding  each  other,  quick  as  the  changing  hues 
of  the  chameleon.     Now  it  seems  g'lilty  cupidity,  ^iow 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  321 

ramorse,  anon  the  dark  shadow  of  despair.  The  last 
growing  darker,  he  draws  nearer  to  the  side,  and  look? 
more  earnestly  over,  as  if  about  to  plunge  into  the  sea, 
and  so  rid  himself  of  a  life  ever  after  to  be  a  burden. 

While  standing  thus,  apparently  hesitating  as  to 
whether  he  should  drown  himself,  and  have  done  with 
it,  soft  voices  sound  in  his  ears,  mingling  their  tones 
with  the  breeze  as  it  sighs  through  the  rigging  of  the 
ship.  Simultaneously  there  is  a  rustling  of  dresses ; 
and,  the  moment  after,  he  sees  two  female  forms,  robed 
in  white,  with  shawls  over  their  shoulders,  and  ker- 
chiefs covering  their  heads.  Stepping  out  on  the 
quarter-deck,  thejr  stand  for  a  short  while,  the  moon 
shining  on  their  faces,  both  bright  and  cheerful  as  her 
beams.  Then  they  stroll  aft,  little  dreaming  of  the 
doom  that  awaits  them. 

Their  unsuspecting  innocence  should  soften  his  tiai- 
torous  heart.  Instead,  it  seems  to  steel  it  the  more, 
as  if  their  presence  but  recalled,  and  quickened  within 
him,  some  vow  of  revenge.  He  hesitates  no  longer 
but,  gliding  back  to  the  hatch,  climbs  over  its  coamings, 
and,  lantern  in  hand,  descends  into  the  hold,  there  to 
do  a  deed  which  light  of  moon  or  sun  should  not 
shine  upon. 

Though  within  the  tropics,  and  but  a  few  degrees 
from  the  equatorial  line,  there  is  dullness  in  the  air 
jf  the  night,  now  nearing  its  mid-hours.  Drawing 
their  cloaks  closely  around  them,  the  young  ladies 
mount  up  to  the  poop,  and  stand  resting  their  hands 
an  the  taffrail.  For  a  time  they  are  silent,  their  eyes 
turned  astern,  watching  the  foam  in  the  ship's  wake  lit 
up  with  dancing  phosphorescence.  They  observe  other 
sparkling  scintillations  beside  those  in  the  "  Condor's'' 


322  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

wake.  There  are  broad  splatches  of  it  all  over  th* 
surface  of  the  sea,  with  here  and  there  elongated  sillons, 
seemingly  made  by  some  creatures  in  motion,  swim- 
ming parallel  to  the  ship's  course,  and  keeping  pace 
with  her.  The  two  girls  have  not  voyaged  through 
thirty  degrees  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  to  be  now  told  what 
these  are.  They  know  them  to  be  sharks,  as  also  that 
some  of  larger  size  and  brighter  luminosity  are  those 
of  the  tintorera,  that  species  so  much  dreaded  bjr  the 
pearl-divers  of  Panama  Ba}-  and  the  Gulf  of  Califor- 
nia. This  night,  both  tiburones  and  tintoreras  are 
more  numerous  than  the}'  have  before  observed  them, 
closer  also  to  the  vessel's  side ;  for  the  sharks,  obser- 
vantly, have  seen  a  boat  lowered  down,  which  gives 
anticipation  of  pre}7  nearer  reach  of  their  ravenous 
jaws. 

"  Santissima I "  exclaims  Carmen,  as  one  makes  a 
dash  at  some  waif  drifting  astern.  "What  a  fearful 
thing  it  would  be  to  fall  overboard  in  the  midst  of 
those  horrid  creatures  !  One  wouldn't  have  the  slight- 
est chance  of  being  saved.  Only  to  think  how  little 
space  there  is  between  us  and  certain  death !  You  see 
that  monster  just  below,  with  its  great,  glaring  e}'es ! 
It  looks  as  if  it  wanted  to  leap  up,  and  lay  hold  of  us. 
Ugh !  I  mustn't  keep  my  eyes  on  it  any  longer.  It 
makes  me  tremble  in  a  strange  way.  I  do  believe,  if  I 
continued  gazing  at  it,  I  should  grow  giddy,  and  drop 
over  into  its  jaws.  Sobrina,  are  you  not  glad  we're 
so  near  the  end  of  our  voj'age?  " 

"I'm  not  sorry,  tia:  I  fancy  ;no  one  ever  is.  1 
should  be  more  pleased,  however,  if  it  ivere  the  end  of 
our  voyage,  which,  unfortunately,  it  isn't.  Before  we 
Bee  Spain,  we've  another  equally  as  long." 

"  True,  —  as   long  in   duration   and   distance ;  but 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  323 

otherwise,  it  may  be  very  different,  and  I  hope  more 
endurable.  Across  the  Atlantic,  we'll  have  passage 
in  a  big  steamship,  wTith  a  grand  dining-saloon  and 
state  sleeping-rooms,  each  in  itself  as  large  as  the 
main  cabin  of  the  *  Condor.'  Besides,  we'll  have 
plenty  of  company, — passengers  like  ourselves.  Let 
us  hope  they  may  turn  out  nice  people.  If  so,  oui 
Atlantic  voyage  will  be  more  enjoyable  than  this  on 
the  Pacific." 

"  But  we've  been  very  comfortable  in  the  '  Condor ; ' 
and  I'm  sure  Capt.  Lantanas  has  done  all  he  could  to 
make  things  agreeable  for  us." 

"  He  has  indeed,  the  clear  good  creature !  and  I 
shall  ever  feel  grateful  to  him.  Still  you  must  admit, 
that,  however  well  meant,  we've  been  at  times  a  little 
bored  by  his  learned  dissertations.  O  Inez  !  it's  been 
awfully  lonely  and  frightfully  monotonous :  at  least  to 
me." 

"Ah!  I  understand.  What  you  want  is  a  bevy  of 
bachelors  as  fellow-passengers,  to  enliven  one.  Well, 
I  suppose  there  will  be  in  the  big  steamer  ;  like  enough 
a  half-score  of  our  mustached  militarios,  returning  from 
Cuba  and  other  colonies.  Wouldn't  that  make  our 
Atlantic  voyage  enjoyable?" 

"  Not  mine,  nothing  of  the  sort,  as  you  know,  Inez. 
To  speak  truth,  it  was  neither  the  loneliness  nor  mo- 
notony of  our  Pacific  voyage  that  has  m&de  it  so 
miseratle  —  something  else." 

"  I  t-iink  I  can  guess  the  something  else." 

"If  so,  you'll  be   clever.     It's  more  than  I  can.,J 

"  Might  it  have  any  thing  to  do  with  those  cold  part- 
ing  compliments,  and  the  informal  leave-taking?  Of 
course  it  has.  Come,  Carmen !  You  promised  me 
\ou'd  think  no  more  about  that  till  we  see  them  in 
Cadiz,  and  have  it  all  cleared  up." 


324  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"  You're  wrong  again,  Iiiez.  It  is  not  any  thing  oi 
them." 

"What  then?  It  can't  be  the  mal  de  mer?  Of  it 
/  might  complain.  I'm  even  suffering  from  it  now, 
although  the  sea  is  so  calm.  But  3tou  —  wiry,  }*ou  stand 
the  sea  as  well  as  one  of  those  rough  sailors  them- 
selves !  You're  just  the  woman  to  be  a  naval  officer's 
wife  ;  and,  when  your  novio  gets  command  of  a  ship,  I 
suppose  3Tou'll  be  for  sailing  all  round  the  world  with 
him." 

"You're  merry,  mora." 

"  Well,  who  wouldn't  be,  with  the  prospect  of  so 
soon  setting  foot  on  land  ?  For  my  part,  I  detest  the 
sea;  and,  when  I  marry  my  little  guardia-marina,  I'll 
make  him  forsake  it,  and  take  to  some  pleasanter  pro- 
fession. And  if  he  prefer  doing  nothing,  by  good  luck 
the  rent  of  my  lands  will  keep  us  both  comfortably, 
with  something  to  spare  for  a  town  house  in  Cadiz. 
But  come,  Carmen!  Tell  me  what's  troubling  you? 
Surety  }'ou  must  know  it." 

"  Surety  I  don't,  Inez.     I  can't  tell  myself." 

"  That's  strange,  a  mystery.  Might  it  be  regret  at 
leaving  behind  }Tour  preux  chevaliers  of  California,  — 
that  grand,  gallant  De  Lara,  whom  at  our  last  inter- 
view we  saw  sprawling  in  the  road-dust?  You  ought 
to  feel  relieved  at  getting  rid  of  him,  as  I  of  my  im- 
portunate suitor,  the  Sefior  Calderon.  B}-  the  waj-  I 
wonder  whatever  became  of  them.  Only  to  think  of 
their  never  coming  near  us  to  say  good-by !  And 
that  nothing  was  seen  or  heard  of  them  afterwards? 
Something  must  have  happened.  What  could  it  have 
been?     I've  tried  to  think,  but  without  succeeding." 

"Sol  the  same.  It  is  indeed  very  strange  ;  though 
I  fancy  father  heard  something  about  them  which  he 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  325 

does  not  wish  to  make  known  to  us.  You  reniembei 
what  happened  after  we'd  left  the  house,  —  those  men 
coming  to  it  in  the  night.  Father  has  an  idea  they 
intended  taking  his  gold,  believing  it  still  there. 
What's  more,  I  think  ae  half  suspects,  that,  of  the  four 
men,  —  for  there  appear  to  have  been  four  of  them,  — 
two  were  no  other  than  our  old  acquaintances,"  she  had 
almost  said  suitors  ;  but  the  word  gives  her  a  spasm  of 
pain,  —  "  Francisco  de  Lara  and  Faustino  Calderon." 

"  Maria  de  merced!  "  exclaims  Iiiez.  "  It's  fright- 
ful to  think  of  such  a  thing.  And  we  ought  to  be 
thankful  to  the  good  saint  for  saving  us  from  such  vil- 
lains, as  glad  to  get  away  from  a  country  where  then- 
like  are  allowed  to  live." 

"  Sobrina,  ybu'Ve  touched  the  point.  The  very 
thought  that's  been  distressing  me  is  the  remembrance 
of  those  men.  Even  since  leaving  San  Francisco,  as 
before  we  left,  I've  had  a  strange  heaviness  on  my 
heart,  a  sort  of  boding  fear  that  we  haven't  yet  seen 
the  last  of  them.  It  haunts  me  like  a  spectre.  I  can't 
tell  why,  unless  it  be  from  what  I  know  of  De  Lara. 
He's  not  the  man  to  submit  to  that  great  defeat  of 
which  we  were  witnesses :  be  assured  he  will  seek  to 
avenge  it.  We  expected  a  duel,  and  feared  it.  Likely 
there  would  have  been  one,  but  for  the  sailing  of  the 
English  ship.  Still  that  won't  hinder  such  a  desperate 
man  as  Don  Francisco  from  going  after  Senor  Crozier, 
and  trying  to  kill  him,  an)-  way  he  can.  I  have  a  fee  r 
hell  follow  him  —  is  after  him  now." 

u  What  if  he  is?  Your  fiance  can  take  care  of  him- 
self, as  so  can  mine  if  Calderon  should  get  it  into  his 
sill}-  head  to  go  after  him.  Let  them  go,  so  long  as 
they  don't  come  after  :is  ;  which  they're  not  1; My- 
all the  way  to  Spain." 
28 


826  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Such  as  the}'  may  masc 
fijeir  waj^  anywhere.  Professional  gamblers,  as  we 
now  know  them  to  be,  travel  to  all  parts  of  the  world. 
All  cities  give  them  the  same  opportunity  to  pursue 
their  outlawed  calling:  why  not  Cadiz?  But,  Inez, 
there's  something  I  haven't  told  3-011,  thinking  you 
might  make  mock  of  it.  I've  had  a  fright  more  than 
once,  several  times,  since  we  came  aboard  the  '  Con- 
dor." ' 

1 '  A  fright !     What  sort  of  a  fright  ? ' ' 

"  If  3'ou  promise  not  to  laugh  at  me,  I'll  tell  3rou." 

"  I  promise.     I  won't." 

"  'T would  be  no  laughing  matter,  were  it  true  ;  but, 
of  course,  it  could  01113-  be  fancy." 

"Fancy  about  what?  Go  on,  tial  I'm  all  impa- 
tience." 

"  About  the  sailors  on  board.  All  have  bad  faces  ; 
some  of  them  like  very  demonios.  But  there's  one 
has  particularly  impressed  me.  Would  you  Relieve  it, 
Inez?  he  has  e3'es  exactty  like  De  Lara's!  His  fea- 
tures, too,  resemble  those  of  Don  Francisco,  only  that 
the  sailor  has  a  great  beard  and  whiskers,  while  he  had 
none.  Of  course,  the  resemblance  can  be  onty  acciden- 
tal. Still  it  caused  me  a  start  when  I  first  observed 
it,  and  has  several  times  since,  never  more  than  this 
very  morning,  when  I  was  up  here,  and  saw  that  man. 
Lie  was  at  the  wheel,  all  hy  himself,  steering.  Several 
times,  on  turning  suddenly  round,  I  caught  him  look- 
ing straight  at  me,  staring  in  the  most  insolent  man 
ner.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  complain  to  Capt.  Lantanas  \ 
but,  reflecting  that  we  were  so  near  the  end  of  our 
voyage  "  — 

She  is  not  permitted  to  sa3r  more  ;  for  at  the  moment, 
a  man  springing  up  to  the  poop,  as  if  he  had  risen 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  327 

out  tl  It,  stands  before  her,  — the  sailor  who  resembles 
De  Lara.     Making  a  low  bow,  he  saj's,  — 

"  Not  near  the  end  of  3-our  voyage,  seTiorita,  but  at* 
it"  adding  with  an  ironical  smile,  "Now,  ladies,  you 
arc  going  ashore.  The  boat  is  down  ;  and,  combining 
business  with  pleasure,  it's  my  duty  to  hand  you  into 
it." 

While  he  is  speaking,  another  of  the  sailors  ap- 
proaches Inez.  It  is  Hernandez,  who  offers  his  ser- 
vices in  a  similar  strain. 

For  a  moment  the  young  ladies  are  speechless 
through  sheer  surprise.  Horror  succeeds,  as  the  truth 
flashes  upon  them.  And  then,  instead  of  coherent 
speech,  they  make  answer  by  a  simultaneous  shriek  ;  at 
the  same  time  attempting  to  retreat  towards  the  com- 
panion-stair. 

Not  a  step  is  permitted  them.  They  are  seized  in 
strong  arms,  and  half  dragged,  half  lifted  off  their 
feet,  hurried  away  from  the  taffrail.  Even  their  cries 
are  hindered  by  huge  woollen  caps  drawn  over  their 
heads,  and  down  to  their  chins,  almost  stifling  them. 
Though  no  longer  seeing,  and  but  indistinctly  hearing, 
the}'  can  tell  where  they  are  being  taken.  They  feel 
'themselves  lifted  over  the  vessel's  side,  and  lowered 
down  man-ropes  into  a  boat,  along  the  bottom  of 
which  they  are  finally  laid,  and  held  fast,  as  if  they 
had  fallen  into  the  jaws  of  those  terrible  tint  ore  ras  they 
law  keeping  company  with  the  ship. 


828  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS* 


CHAPTER  XLin. 

THE     BARK     ABANDONED. 

SIMULTANEOUS  with  the  abduction  on  deck, 
there  is  a  scene  in  the  "Condor's"  cabin  that 
might  be  likened  to  a  saturnalia  of  demons. 

The  skipper  and  Don  Gregorio,  sitting  over  their 
walnuts  and  wine,  are  startled  by  the  sound  of  footsteps 
descending  the  stair;  these  hea\r3r-and  hurried,  bearing 
no  resemblance  to  the  gentle  tread  of  women.  It 
cannot  be  the  ladies  coming  down  again.  Nor  yet  the 
negro  cook,  since  his  voice  is  heard  above  in  angry 
expostulation ;  for  two  of  the  sailors  have  seized  him 
in  his  galle}',  throttled  him  back  on  the  bench,  and  are 
there  lashing  him  with  a  piece  of  log-line. 

They  at  the  cabin-table  know  nothing  of  this. 
They  hear  his  shouts,  with  the  shrieks  of  the  ladies, 
but  have  no  time  to  seek  explanation,  as  at  that  instant 
the  door  is  dashed  open,  and  several  sailors  burst  in, 
the  second  mate  at  their  head.  Lantanas,  facing  the 
door,  sees  them  first ;  Don  Gregorio,  turning  in  his 
seat,  the  instant  after.  Neither  thinks  of  demanding 
a  reason  for  the  rude  intrusion.  The  determined  air 
of  tne  intruders,  with  the  fierce,  reckless  expression  on 
their  faces,  tells  it  would  be  idle. 

In  a  time  shorter  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  the  two 
doomed  men  are  made  fast  to  the  stanchioned  chairs, 
where  the}7  sit  bolt  upright,  firm  as  bollard  heads, 
though  not  in  silence.    Boih  utter  threats,  oaths,  angrj 


A   STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  329 

fu]  ruinations.  Not  long  are  the}*  allowed  even  freedom 
of  speech.  One  of  the  sailors  thrusts  something  be- 
tween Capt.  Lantanas'  teeth,  gagging  him.  Another, 
read}'  prepared  for  remonstrance,  does  the  like  foi  Don 
Gregorio.  Then  the  work  of  pillage  proceeds.  The 
locker-lids  are  forced,  and  the  boxes  of  gold-dust 
dragged  out.  Several  comings  and  goings  are  re- 
quired for  its  transport  to  the  pinnace ;  but  at  length 
it  is  stowed  in  the  boat,  the  plunderers  taking  their 
seats  beside  it.  One  lingers  in  the  cabin  behind  the 
rest,  that  fiend  in  human  shape  who  has  all  along 
counselled  killing  the  unfortunate  men.  Left  alone 
with  them,  —  they  helpless,  and  at  his  mere}',  —  he  looks 
as  if  still  determined  to  do  this.  It  is  not  from  any 
motive  of  compassion  that  he  goes  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  strikes  the  gags  from  between  their  teeth ; 
for  at  the  same  time  he  apostrophizes  them  in  horrid 
mockery :  — 

"  Carramba!  I  can't  think  of  leaving  two  gentlemen 
seated  at  such  a  well-furnished  table,  without  being 
able  to  hob-nob,  and  converse  with  one  another." 
Specially  addressing  Lantanas,  he  continues,  "  You 
see,  captain,  I'm  not  spiteful ;  else  I  shouldn't  think 
of  showing  3*011  this  bit  of  civility,  after  the  insults 
you've  offered  me  since  I've  been  second  officer  of 
your  ship."  Then  approaching  Don  Gregorio  angrily, 
he  shrieks  into  his  ear,  "Perhaps  you  don't  remember 
me,  Montijo.  But  I  do  you.  Can  your  worship  recall 
a  circumstance  that  occurred  some  six  }*ears  ago,  when 
you  were  alcalde-mayor  of  Yerba  Buena?  You  may 
remember  having  a  poor  fellow  pilloried  and  whipped 
for  doing  a  bit  of  contraband.  I  was  that  unfortunate 
individual.  And  this  is  my  satisfaction  for  the  indig- 
nity you  put  upon  me.     Keep  your  seats,  gentlemei  I 

2S* 


830  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

Drink  your  wine,  and  eat  your  walnuts.  Before  you've 
cleared  the  table,  this  fine  bark,  with  3*0111-  noble 
selves,  will  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea."  The  ruffian 
concludes  with  a  peal  of  scornful  laughter,  continued 
as  he  ascends  the  cabin-stair,  after  striding  out,  and 
clanging  the  door  behind  him. 

On  deck  he  finds  himself  alone,  and,  hurrying  to 
the  ship's  waist,  scrambles  over  the  side,  down  into 
the  pinnace,  where  he  finds  every  thing  stowed,  the 
oarsmen  seated  on  the  thwarts,  their  oars  in  the  row- 
locks, read}'  to  shove  off.  The}'  are  not  all  there  yet. 
The  first  mate  and  Davis  are  still  aboard  the  vessel. 

There  are  those  who  would  gladly  cast  loose,  and 
leave  the  laggards  behind.  Soon  as  stepping  into  the 
boat,  Padilla  proposes  it,  the  other  Spaniards  abetting 
him.  But  their  traitorous  desire  is  opposed  by  Striker. 
However  otherwise  debased,  the  ex-convict  is  true  to 
the  men  who  speak  his  own  tongue.  He  protests  in 
strong,  determined  language,  and  is  backed  by  the 
Dutchman,  Dane,  and  La  Crosse,  as  also  Tarry  and 
Slush. 

"Bah!"  exclaims  Padilla,  seeing  himself  in  the 
minority:  "  I  was  only  jesting.  Of  course,  I  had  no 
intention  to  abandon  them.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  he  adds 
with  a  forced  laugh,  "  we'd  be  the  blackest  of  traitors 
to  behave  that  way." 

Striker  pays  no  heed  to  the  hypocritical  speech,  but 
calls  to  his  fellow-convict  and  Harry  Blew,  alternately 
pronouncing  their  names.  He  at  length  gets  response, 
and  soon  after  sees  Davis  above,  clambering  over  the 
rail.  Blew-  is  not  far  off,  but  still  does  not  appear. 
He  is  by  the  foot  of  the  mainmast  with  a  halyard  in 
his  hands,  as  though  hoisting  something  aloft.  The 
moon  has  become  clouded,  and  it  is  too  dark  for  an^ 
^ne  to  pee  what  it  is. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  331 

"  Rillo,  there,  Blew!"  again  hails  Striker:  'what 
De  a-keepin' ye?  Huny  down  !  These  Spanish  chapa 
arc  threctnin'  to  go  off  without  ye." 

"  Hang  it!  "  exclaims  the  chief  mate,  now  showing 
at  the  side.     "  I  hope  that  an't  true  !  " 

"  Certainly  not!"  exclaims  Padilla,  "nothing  of 
the  kind.  We  were  only  afraid  you  might  clela}'  too 
long,  and  be  in  danger  of  going  down  with  the 
vessel." 

"  Not  much  fear  o'  that,"  returns  Blew,  dropping 
with  Davis  into  the  boat.     "It'll  be  some  time  afore 
she   sinks.     Ye  fixed  the  rudder  for  her  to  run  out 
didn't  ye?" 

"  A}T,  a}r !  "  responds  he  who  was  last  at  the  wheel. 

"All  right:  shove  off,  then!  That  wind'll  take 
the  old  "Condor"  straight  seawart ;  an',  long  afore 
sunrise,  she'll  be  out  sight  o'  land.  Give  way  there 
-way!" 

The  oars  dip  and  plash.  The  boat  separates  from 
the  side,  with  prow  turned  shoreward.  The  bark,  with 
all  sail  still  spread,  is  left  to  herself  and  the  breeze, 
which  wafts  her  gently  away  towards  the  wide  wilder- 
ness of  ocean. 

Proceeding  cautioushr,  guarding  against  the  rattle 
of  an  oar  in  its  rowlock,  the  pirates  run  their  boat 
through  the  breakers,  and  approach  the  shore.  Ahead 
they  see  the  two  summits,  with  the  moon  just  going 
down  between  them. 

The  shore  out1  me  is  a  cove  of  horseshoe  shape,  the 
cliffs  extending  aiound  it.  With  a  few  more  strokes, 
the  boat  is  brought  into  it,  and  glides  on  to  its  inner- 
most end. 

As  the  keel  grates  upon  its  shingly  strand,  their  cars 
aie  saluted  by  a  chorus  of  cries,  the  alarm  signal  of 


332  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

sea-birds,  startled  by  the  intrusion.  Some  fly  up  fn  m 
the  beach,  others  from  ledges  along  the  cliff's  face. 
The  scream  of  the  sea-eagle  can  be  distinguished  like 
the  laugh  of  a  maniac.  These  sounds,  notwithstand- 
ing their  discordance,  are  sweet  to  those  now  hearing 
them.  They  tell  of  a  shore  uninhabited,  —  literally, 
that  the  "  coast  is  clear,"  — just  as  desired.  Beach- 
ing their  boat,  the  pirates  spring  on  shore,  and  lift  the 
captives  out,  then  their  spoils,  —  one  unresisting  as  the 
other.  Some  go  in  search  of  a  place  where  the}'  may 
pass  t  lie  night ;  for  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  moving 
inland.  Between  the  strand  and  the  cliffs  base,  they 
discover  a  place,  several  feet  above  sea-level,  having 
an  area  of  over  an  acre,  covered  with  coarse  grass,  — 
just  the  spot  for  camping-ground.  As  the  sky  lias 
become  clouded,  and  threatens  a  downpour  of  rain, 
the}T  carry  thither  the  boat's  sail,  intending  to  rig  it  up 
as  an  awning.  But  a  discovery  is  made  which  spares 
them  the  trouble.  Along  its  base,  the  cliff  is  honey- 
combed with  caves,  one  of  ample  dimensions,  sufficient 
to  shelter  the  whole  crew.  A  ship's  lamp,  which  they 
have  brought  with  them,  when  lighted,  throws  its  glare 
upon  stalactites  that  sparkle  like  the  pendants  of 
chandeliers.  Disposing  themselves  in  various  atti- 
tudes,—  some  reclined  on  their  spread  pilot-coats,  some 
seated  on  stones  or  canvas  bags,  —  the}'  enter  upon  a 
debauch  vrith  the  wine  abstracted  from  the  cabin-stores 
of  the  abandoned  bark, — drinking,  talking,  singing, 
and  shouting,  till  the  cavern  rings  with  their  rude 
revelry.  It  is  well  their  captives  are  not  compelled  to 
take  part  in  it.  To  them  has  been  appropriated  one 
of  the  smaller  grottoes,  the  boat-sail  fixed  in  front, 
securing  them  privacy.  Harry  Blew  has  done  this. 
In  the  breast  of  the  British  mau-o'-war's-man  there  is 


A   STORY    OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  333 

still  a  spark  of  delicacy.  Though  his  gratitude  has 
given  way  to  the  greed  of  gold,  lie  has  not  3-et  sunk  to 
the  low  level  of  ruffianism  around  him. 

While  the  carousal  is  thus  carried  on  within  the 
cave,  without  the  overcast  sky  begins  to  discharge 
itself.  Lightning  forks  and  flashes  athwart  the  firma- 
ment ;  thunder  rolls  reverberating  along  the  cliffs ;  a 
strong  wind  sweeps  them ;  and  rain  rushes  down  in 
torrents. 

It  is  a  tropic  storm,  shortlived,  — lasting  scarce  an 
hour  ;  but,  while  on,  it  lashes  the  sea  into  fury,  driving 
the  breakers  upon  the  beach,  where  the  boat  has  been 
left  looseh*  moored.  In  the  reflux  of  the  ebbing  tide, 
it  is  set  afloat,  and  carried  away  seaward.  Coming 
upon  the  coral  reef,  it  bilges,  is  broken  to  pieces  ;  and 
the  fragments,  as  waifs,  dance  about,  and  drift  far  away 
over  the  foam-crested  billows. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

TTVO    TAR  QUINS. 

IT  is  an  hour  after  midnight.  A  calm  has  succeeded 
the  storm ;  and  silence  reigns  around  the  cove 
where  the  pirates  have  put  in.  The  sea-birds  have 
leturned  to  their  perches  on  the  cliff,  and  now  sit  noise- 
lessly, save  an  occasional  angry  scream  from  the  osprey, 
as  a  whippoorwill,  or  some  other  plumed  plunderer  of 
the  night,  flits  past  his  place  of  repose,  near  enough  to 
wake  the  tyrant  of  the  seashore,  and  excite  his  jealous 
rage.     Other  sounds  are  the  dull  boom  of  the  ovtsida 


334  THE  FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

breakers,  and  the  lighter  ripple  of  the  tidal  waves 
washing  over  a  strand  rich  in  shells,  and  coral  worn  by 
attrition  into  a  thousand  shapes.  Now  and  then  a 
manatee,  raising  its  bristled  snout  above  the  surf,  gives 
out  a  low,  prolonged  wail,  like  the  cry  of  some  creature 
in  mortal  agon}'.  It  might  be  mistaken  for  the  moan 
of  a  human  being,  whose  spirit  is  sorely  oppressed. 

But  there  is  no  human  voice  now.  The  ruffians  have 
ended  their  carousal.  Their  profane  songs,  ribald  jests, 
and  drunken  cachinnations,  inharmoniously  mingling 
with  the  soft  monotone  of  the  sea,  have  ceased  to  be 
heard.  They  lie  astretch  along  the  cavern  floor,  its 
hollow  aisles  echoing  back  only  their  snores  and  ster- 
torous breathing. 

But  they  are  not  all  asleep,  nor  all  inside  the  cavern. 
Two  are  outside,  seen  making  approach  towards  the 
grotto  occupied  by  the  captive  girls.  As  the  moon  has 
gone  down,  it  is  too  dark  to  distinguish  their  faces. 
Still  there  is  light  enough  reflected  from  the  luminous 
surface  of  the  sea  to  show  that  neither  is  in  sailor  garb, 
but  in  the  habiliments  of  landsmen,  —  this  the  national 
costume  of  Spanish  California.  On  their  heads  are 
sombreros  of  ample  brim  ;  on  their  legs,  trousers,  open- 
seamed,  flapping  loose  around  their  ankles  ;  while  over 
their  shoulders  they  carry  cloaks,  which,  by  their  pecu- 
liar drape,  are  recognizable  as  mangas  of  Mexico. 

In  the  obscurity,  the  color  cannot  be  determined ; 
but  one  is  scarlet,  the  other  sky-blue.  As  dressed 
now,  it  would  be  difficult  io  identify  these  men  as 
Gomez  and  Hernandez.     Yet  it  is  they. 

They  are  approaching  the  grotto  without  any  show 
of  fear,  or  even  caution  ;  slowly,  and  in  conversation. 
Gomez  has  commenced  it,  saying,  — 

"I've   been   thinking,  companero,   now   we've   got 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  335 

ever}'  thing  straight  so  far,  that  our  best  plan  will  be  to 
staj*  where  we  are  till  it's  all  fixed  as  we  want  it.  We 
can  send  on  for  the  paeZre,  and  bring  him  here  ;  or,  fail- 
ing hini,  the  cur:i.  To  tell  truth,  I  haven't  the  slightest 
idea  of  where  we've  come  ashore.  We  ma}*  be  a  good- 
ish  distance  from  Santiago  ;  and  to  go  there  embargoed 
as  we  are,  there's  a  possibility  of  our  being  robbed  of 
our  pretty  baggage  on  the  route.  You  understand 
me?" 

"  Si  —  clertamente  I  " 

"  Against  risk  of  that  kind,  it  is  necessaiy  we  should 
take  some  precautions.  And  the  first,  as  also  the 
best  I  can  think  of,  is  to  stay  here  till  we're  spliced 
to  our  sweethearts.  Rafael  can  act  as  a  messenger, 
or,  for  that  matter,  Don  Manuel.  Either,  with  six 
words  I  shall  intrust  to  him,  will  be  certain  to  bring 
back  an  ecclesiastic  having  full  powers  to  go  through 
the  form  of  a  ceremom\  Then  we  can  march  inland 
without  fear,  ay,  with  flying  colors  ;  both  Benedicts, 
our  blushing  brides  on  our  arms.  In  Santiago  de 
Veragoa  we  shall  spend  our  honeymoon.' ' 

' '  Delightful  anticipation  ! ' ' 

"  Just  so.  And,  for  that  very  reason,  we  mustn't 
risk  marring  it ;  which  we  might,  by  travelling  as 
simple  bachelors.  So  I  say  let  us  get  married  before 
going  a  step  farther." 

"But  the  others?  Are  the}*  to  assist  at  ^ar  nup- 
tials ?" 

-'Certainly  not." 

"  In  what  wa}-  is  it  to  be  avoided?" 

"The  simplest  in  the  .world.  It's  understood  that 
we  divide  our  plunder  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
When  that's  done,  and  each  has  stowed  away  his  share 
I.  intend  proposing  that  we  separate,  every  one  to  go 
his  own  gait." 


336  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Will  they  agree  to  that,  think  3*011?" 

*s  Of  course  the}*  will.  Wiry  shouldn't  tliey?  It's 
the  safest  way  for  all,  and  the}-'ll  see  it.  Twch  t  of 
as  trooping  together  through  the  country,  to  say 
no  Mng  of  having  the  women  along  —  the  story  we're 
to  tell  about  shipwreck  might  get  discredited.  When 
that's  made  clear  to  our  old  shipmates,  they'll  be  con- 
siderate for  their  own  safet}\  Trust  me  for  making  it 
clear.  Of  course,  we'll  keep  Padilla  and  Velarde  to 
act  as  groomsmen ;  so  that  the  011I3*  things  wanted  will 
be  a  brace  of  bridesmaids." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "   laughs  Hernandez. 

"And  now  to  see  about  our  brides.  We've  not  yet 
proposed  to  them.  We  went  once  to  do  that,  and  were 
disappointed.     No  danger  now." 

"I  suppose  we  may  count  upon  a  flat  refusal." 

"  Flat  or  sharp,  little  care  I;  and  it  won't  signify 
one  way  or  the  other.  In  three  days,  or  less,  I  intend 
calling  Carmen  Montijo  niy  wife.  But  come  on !  1 
long  to  la}'  hand  and  heart  at  her  feet." 

Saying  which,  Gomez  strides  on  towards  the  grotto, 
the  other  after,  like  two  Tarquins  about  to  invade  the 
sleep  of  innocence. 

Though  the  cave  is  in  darkness,  its  occupants  are 
not  asleep.  To  them  repose  is  impossible.  They  are 
experiencing  the  keenest  anguish  possible  to  human 
heart.  The}*  have  passed  through  its  first  throes,  and 
are  for  th  1  time  calmer ;  but  it  is  the  tranquillit}*  of 
despair,  of  deep  deadening  grief.  They  mourn  him 
dcaiost  to  them  dead.  They  have  no  doubt  that  he  is 
so.  How  could  they?  While  in  the  boat,  the}*  heard 
their  captors  speak* about  the  scuttling  of  the  ship,  well 
knowing  what  was  meant.  Long  since  has  she  gone  to 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  with  the  living,  or  perhaps  onlj 


A  STORY  OF   THE  SOUTH   SEA.  337 

their  lifeless  bodies  ;  for  they  may  have  been  murdered 
before  being  abandoned.  No  matter  now  in  what  way 
death  came  to  them.  Enough  of  sadness  and  horror 
to  think  it  has  come,  without  speculating  on  details ; 
enough  for  the  bereaved  ones  to  know  they  are  bereft. 
Nor  do  the}7  need  telling  wiry  it  has  all  been  done. 
Though  hindered  from  seeing  while  in  the  boat,  they 
have  heard.  Cupidity  the  cause  of  the  crime,  resulting 
in  a  conspiracy,  a  scheme  to  plunder  the  ship.  Alas, 
it  has  succeeded ! 

But  all  is  not  yet  over.  Would  that  it  were  !  There 
ts  something  still  to  come,  —  something  they  fear  to 
reflect  upon,  much  more  speak  of  to  one  another. 
What  is  to  be  their-  own  fate  ?  They  can  neither  tell 
nor  guess.  In  their  affliction,  their  thoughts  are  too 
distracted  for  calm  or  clear  reasoning.  But,  in  the 
midst  of  vague  visions,  one  assumes  a  shape  too  well 
defined,  with  darkest  shadows  filling  up  the  outline. 
It  is  the  same  of  which  Carmen  was  speaking  when 
seized.  She  again  returns  to  it,  saying,  "Inez,  I'm 
now  almost  sure  we  are  not  in  the  hands  of  strangers. 
What  has  happened,  and  those  voices  we  heard,  tell 
me  ray  suspicions  have  been  correct." 

"  Heaven  help  us,  if  it  be  so  !  " 

"  Yes,  Heaven  help  us!  Even  from  pirates  we 
might  have  expected  some  mercy,  but  none  from  them. 
Ay  cle  mi!  what  will  become  of  us?  " 

The  interrogatory  is  only  answered  by  a  sigh.  The 
proud  spirit  of  the  Andalusian  gu'l,  habitually  cheerful, 
is  now  crushed  by  a  weight  of  wretchedness  enough  to 
steep  it  in  despair.  After  a  time  the}'  again  exchange 
speech,  seeking  counsel  of  one  another.  Is  there  no 
hope,  no  hand  to  help,  no  one  to  whom  tley  may  turn 
In  this  hour  of  dread  ordeal? 


838  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

No,  not  one !  Even  the  English  sailor,  in  whom 
they  had  trusted,  has  proved  untrue ;  to  all  appear- 
ance, from  what  they  have  seen  and  heard,  chief  of  the 
traitorous  crew.  Every  human  being  seems  to  have 
abandoned  them.     Has  God  ? 

"  Let  us  pray  to  him  !  "  says  Carmen. 

((  Yes,"  answers  liiez.     "  He  only  can  help  us  now." 

The}r  kneel  side  by  side  on  the  hard,  cold  floor  of 
the  cavern,  and  send  up  their  voices  in  earnest  prayer. 
They  first  entreat  the  Holy  Virgin  that  the  life  of  him 
dear  to  them  may  yet  be  spared,  then  invoke  her  pro- 
tection for  themselves,  against  a  danger  both  dread 
more  than  death  itself.  They  pray  in  trembling  ac- 
cents, but  with  a  fervor  eloquent  through  fear.  Sol- 
emnly pronouncing  "  Amen  !  "  they  make  the  sign  of 
the  cross.  As  their  hands  drop  down  from  the  gesture, 
and  while  the}'  are  still  in  a  kneeling  attitude,  a  noise 
outside  succeeds  their  appeal  to  Heaven,  suddenly 
recalling  them  to  earthly  thoughts  and  fears. 

They  hear  voices  of  men  in  conversation :  at  the 
same  time  the  sail-cloth  is  pushed  aside,  and  two  men 
press  past  it  into  the  cave.  Soon  as  entering,  one 
says,  t;  SeTioritas,  we  must  ask  pardon  for  making  our 
somewhat  untimely  call,  which  present  circumstances 
render  imperative.  It's  to  be  hoped,  however,  you 
won't  stand  upon  such  stiff  ceremony  with  us  as  when 
we  had  the  honor  of  last  paying  our  respects  to  you." 

After  this  singular  peroration,  the  speaker  pauses  to 
see  what  may  be  the  effect  of  his  words.  As  this  can- 
not be  gathered  from  any  reply,  —  since  none  is  vouch- 
safed,—  he  continues,  "  Doha  Carmen  Montijo,  you 
and  I  are  old  acquaintances,  though,  it  may  be,  you 
do  not  remember  my  voice.  With  the  found  of  the 
sea  so  long  echoing  in  your  ears,  it's  not  strange  you 


A    STOBY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  339 

shou.l  not.  Perhaps  the  sense  of  sight  will  prove 
more  effectual  in  recalling  an  old  friend.  Let  me  give 
}Tou  something  to  assist  it." 

Saying  this,  he  holds  out  a  lantern,  hitherto  con- 
cealed beneath  his  cloak.  As  it  lights  up  the  grotto, 
four  figiu  es  are  seen  erect ;  for  the  girls  have  sprung 
to  their  feet  in  apprehension  of  immediate  danger. 
Upon  all,  the  light  shines  clear ;  and,  fronting  her, 
Carmen  Montijo  sees  —  too  surely  recognizing  it  —  the 
face  cf  Francisco  de  Lara  ;  while  in  her  vis-a-vis  Inez 
Alvarez  beholds  Faustino  Calderon. 

Yes :  before  them  are  their  scorned  suitors,  no 
longer  disguised  in  sailor  garb,  but  resplendent  in  their 
Caiifornian  costume, —  the  same  worn  by  them  on  that 
day  of  their  degradation,  when  De  Lara  rolled  in  the 
dust  of  the  Dolores  road. 

Now  that  he  has  them  in  his  power,  his  triumph  is 
complete ;  and,  in  strains  of  exultation  he  continues, 
-'  So,  ladies,  we  have  come  together  again.  No  doubt 
you're  a  little  surprised  at  our  presence,  but  I  hope  not 
annoyed." 

There  is  no  replj*  to  his  taunting  speech. 

"Well,  if  3*011  won't  answer,  I  shall  take  it  foi 
granted  3*011  are  anno3*ed,  besides  looking  a  little 
alarmed  too.     You've  no  need  to  be  that." 

"  No,  indeed!"  indorses  Calderon.  "We  mean 
you  no  harm,  —  none  whatever." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  goes  on  De  Lara,  "  only  good. 
We've  nothing  but  favors  to  offer  yon." 

-'  Don  Francisco  de  Lara,"  says  Carmen,  at  length 
breaking  silence,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  piteous 
expostulate.  1,  "  and  3'ou,  Don  Faustino  Calderon,  why 
have  you  committed  this  crime?  What  injmy  have  \u 
ever  done  3tou?" 


810  THE    FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

"  Come,  not  so  fast,  fair  Carmen  !  Crime's  a  harsh 
word ;  and  we've  not  committed  any  as  yet,  nothing 
to  speak  of." 

"  No  crime!  Santissima!  M37  father,  my  poof 
father!" 

"Don't  be  uneasj  about  him.     He's  safe  enough." 

"  Safe !     Dead  !     Drowned  !  " 

"  No,  no  !  That's  all  nonsense,"  protests  the  fiend, 
adding  falsehood  to  his  sin  of  deeper  dye.  "  Don 
Gregorio  is  not  where  3-011  say.  Instead  of  being  at 
the  sea's  bottom,  he's  sailing  upon  its  surface  ;  and  i3 
likely  to  be,  for  no  one  knows  how  long.  But  let's 
drop  that  subject  of  the  past,  which  seems  unpleasant 
to  you,  and  talk  of  the  present,  of  ourselves.  You 
ask  what  injury  you've  ever  done  us.  Faustino  Calde- 
ron  may  answer  for  himself  to  the  fair  Inez.  To  you, 
Doha  Carmen,  I  shall  make  reply.  But  we  ma}T  as 
well  confer  privately." 

At  this  he  la}*s  hold  of  her  wrist,  and  leads  her 
aside  ;  Calderon  conducting  Inez  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. 

When  the  whole  length  of  the  cavern  is  between  the 
two  pairs,  De  Lara  resumes  speech. 

"  Yes,  Dona  Carmen,  3-011  have  done  me  an  injury, 
—  a  double  wrong,  I  ma}7  call  it." 

"How,  s-r?"  she  asks,  releasing  her  hand  from 
his,  and  flinging  him  off  with  a  disdainful  gesture 

64  How?"  he  retorts.  "  AVhy,  in  making  me  love 
you,  by  leading  me  to  believe  my  love  returned." 

"You  speak  falselv  :  I  never  did  so." 

"You  did,  Doha  Carmen:  you  did.  It  is  3'ou  who 
speak  false,  denying  it.  That  is  the  first  wrong  I  have 
to  reproach  you  with.  The  second  is  in  casting  me 
off  as  soon  as  you  supposed  you'd  done  with  me.     Not 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOCJTH   SEA.  341 

so,  aj  3*ou  see  now.  We're  together  again,  novel 
more  to  part  till  I've  had  satisfaction  for  every  injury 
received  at  your  hands.  I  once  hinted,  and  now  tell 
you  plainly,  you've  made  a  mistake  in  trifling  with 
Francisco  de  Lara." 

"  I  never  trifled  with  you,  senor.  What  means  this? 
Man,  ---if  3-011  be  a  man, — have  mercy!  Oh!  what 
would  3-011?  what  would  you?  " 

"Nothing  to  call  for  such  distracted  entreat}'.  On 
the  contrary,  I've  brought  you  here  —  for  I'll  not  deny 
that  it's  I  who  have  done  it  —  to  grant  you  favors, 
instead  of  asking  them,  or  even  satisfying  resentments. 
What  I  intend  towards  3-011,  I  hope  3-011'H  appreciate. 
To  shorten  explanations  (for  which  we've  neither  op- 
portunity nor  time) ,  I  want  you  for  my  wife,  —  want 
you,  and  will  have  3-011. " 

"  Your  wife!  " 

"  Yes,  my  wife.  You  needn't  look  surprise,  nor 
counterfeit  feeling  it ;  and  equally  idle  for  3-ou  to  make 
opposition.  I've  determined  upon  it.  Senorita,  3-011 
must  many  me." 

"  Many  the  murderer  of  nry  father!  Sooner  than 
do  that,  3-011  shall  also  be  mine.  Wretch !  I  am  in 
3'our  power.     You  can  kill  me  now." 

"  I  know  all  that  without  3-our  telling  me.  But  I 
don't  intend  killing  3*011.  On  the  contraiy,  I  shall  take 
care  to  keep  3-ou  alive  until  I've  tried  what  sort  of  a 
wife  3tou'11  make.  Should  3*011  prove  a  good  one,  and 
fairly  affectionate,  we  two  may  lead  a  happ3*  life  to- 
gether, notwithstanding  the  little  unpleasantness  that's 
been  between  us.  If  not,  and  our  wedded  bondage  prov  e 
uncongenial,  why,  then  I  ma3'  release  3*011  in  the  way 
you  wish,  or  an3*  other  that  seems  suitable.  After  the 
honeymoon,  you  shall  have  your  choice.  Now,  Don:) 
29* 


342  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS, 

Carmen !    those  are  my  conditions.     I  hope  you  find 
them  fair  enough." 

She  makes  no  reply.  The  proud  girl  is  dumb,  partly 
with  indignation,  partly  from  the  knowledge  that  all 
speech  would  be  idle.  But,  while  angiy  to  the  utmost, 
she  is  also  afraid,  trembling  at  the  alternative  pre- 
sented, —  death,  or  dishonor  ;  the  last,  if  she  many  the 
murderer  of  her  father  ;  the  first,  if  she  refuse  him. 

The  ruffian  repeats  his  proposal  in  the  same  cynical 
strain,  concluding  it  with  a  threat. 

She  is  at  length  stung  to  reply,  which  she  does  in 
but  two  words,  twice  repeated  in  wild,  despairing 
accent.     They  are,  "  Kill  me,  kill  me!" 

Almost  at  the  same  time  does  Inez  answer  her  cowr- 
ardly  suitor,  who,  in  a  corner  of  the  grotto,  has  alike 
brought  her  to  bay. 

After  the  dual  response,  there  is  a  short  interval  of 
silence.     Then  De  Lara,  speaking  for  both,  saj-s, — 

"  Seiioritas,  we  shall  leave  3*011  now :  3-01  can  go  to 
sleep  without  fear  of  further  solicitation.  No  doubt, 
after  a  night's  rest,  you'll  awake  to  a  more  sensible 
view  of  matters  in  general,  and  the  case  as  it  stands. 
Of  one  thing  be  assured, — that  there's  no  chance  of 
your  escaping  from  3*0111-  present  captivit3T,  unless  by 
consenting  to  change  your  names.  And,  if  you  don't 
consent,  they'll  be  changed  all  the  same.  Yes,  Carmen 
Montijo,  before  another  week  passes  over  3'our  head, 
you  shall  be  addressed  as  Dona  Carmen  de  Lara." 

"  And  3*011,  Inez  Alverez,  will  be  called  Dona  Inez 
Calderon.  No  need  for  3*ou  to  feel  dishonored  by  a 
name  among  the  best  in  Calfornia, — noble  as  3*0111 
own,  a3*,  or  air*/  in  Spain." 

"  Hasta  mcuiana,  muchachas!"  salutes  De  Lara. 
'•  Pasan  Yos  buena  rioche!"  ("Till  morning,  ladies 
good-night !") 


A   STORY  OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  343 

CalJeron  repeating  the  same  formulary  of  speech, 
the  two  step  towards  the  entrance,  lift  up  the  piece  of 
suspended  sail-cloth,  and  pass  out  into  the  night. 
The}-  take  the  lantern  along  with  them,  again  leaving 
the  grotto  in  darkness. 

The  girls  grope  their  way  till  they  touch  each  other  ; 
then,  closing  in  an  agonized  embrace,  they  sink  together 
UDon  the  floor  of  the  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

OCE  ANWARDS. 

ANOTHER  day  dawns  over  the  great  South  Sea. 
As  the  golden  orb  shows  above  the  crest  of  the 
Central  American  Cordillera,  its  beams  scatter  wide 
over  the  Pacific,  as  a  lamp  raised  aloft,  flashing  its 
light  afar.  Many  degrees  of  longitude  receive  instant 
illumination,  at  once  turning  night  into  day.  An  ob- 
server, looking  west  over  that  vast  wateiy  expanse, 
would  see  on  its  shining  surface  objects  that  gladdened 
not  the  eyes  of  Balboa.  In  his  day,  only  the  rude  In- 
dian balza,  or  frail  periagua,  afraid  to  venture  out, 
stole  timidly  along  the  shore ;  but  now  huge  ships, 
with  broad  white  sails,  and  at  rare  intervals  the  long 
black  hull  of  a  steamer,  thick  smoke  vomited  forth 
from  her  funnel,  may  be  descried  in  an  offing  that 
extends  to  the  horizon  itself.  Not  alwa}'s  can  these  be 
seen;  for  the  commerce  of  the  Pacific  is  slight  com- 
pared with  that  of  the  Atlantic,  and  large  shr  >s  pass* 
ing  along  the  coast  of  Veragua  are  few  and  far  >etweeu, 


344  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

On  this  morning,  however,  one  is  observed,  and  ontj 
one  :  she  not  sailing  coastwise,  bat  standing  out  towards 
raid-ocean,  as  though  she  had  just  left  the  land. 

As  the  ascending  sun  dispels  the  night  darkness 
around  her,  she  can  be  descried  as  a  white  fleck  on  the 
blue  water,  her  spread  sails  seeming  no  bigger  than  the 
wings  of  a  sea-gull.  Still,  through  a  telescope  —  sup- 
posing it  in  the  hands  of  a  seaman  —  she  may  be  told 
to  be  a  craft  with  polacca  masts  ;  moreover,  that  the 
sails  on  her  mizzen  are  not  square-set,  but  fore-and-aft, 
proclaiming  her  a  bark.  For  she  is  one  ;  and  could 
the  observer,  through  his  glass,  make  out  the  lettering 
upon  her  stern,  he  would  there  read  the  name,  "  El 
Condor."  Were  he  transported  aboard  of  her,  unaware 
of  what  has  happened,  it  would  surprise  him  to  find 
her  decks  deserted,  not  even  a  man  at  the  wheel,  though 
she  is  sailing  with  full  canvas  spread,  even  to  studding- 
sails  ;  no  living  thing  seen  anywhere,  save  two  mon- 
strous creatures  covered  with  rust-colored  hair,  mock- 
ing counterfeits  of  humanity.  Equally  astonished  would 
he  be  at  finding  her  forecastle  abandoned ;  sailors' 
chests  with  the  lids  thrown  open,  and  togs  lying  loose 
around  them.  Xor  would  it  lessen  his  astonishment 
to  glance  into  her  galley,  and  there  behold  a  black  man 
sitting  upon  its  bench,  who  does  not  so  much  as  rise 
to  receive  him ;  nor  }ret,  descending  her  cabin-stair, 
1o  see  a  table  profusely  spread,  at  either  end  a  guest, 
alike  uncourteous  in  keeping  their  seats,  on  the  faces 
of  both  an  expression  of  agonized  despair.  And  all 
this  might  be  seen  on  board  the  Chilian  vessel  on  the 
morning  after  abandonment  by  her  traitorous  and 
piratical  crew. 

A  fearful  night  has  it  been  for  the  three  unfortunate 
men  left  in  her,  more  especially  the  two  constrained  to 


A.  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH   SEA.  S4b 

sit  at  her  cabin-table  ;  for  both  have  other  thoughts, 
more  bitter  than  confinement,  enough  to  fill  the  cup  of 
their  anguish  to  the  very  brim.  The}7  did  not  3'ield 
unresistingly.  Even  the  gentle  skipper  struggled, 
stormed,  and  threatened,  till  overpowered  by  brute 
force,  and  firmly  bound.  In  like  manner  had  Don 
Gregorio  behaved,  till  resistance  was  of  no  avail,  then 
making  appeal  to  the  humanity  only  of  his  assailants, 
to  find  this  alike  idle.  A  dread  hour  that  for  the  ex- 
haciendado.  Not  because  of  his  treasure,  the  bulk  of 
his  fortune,  borne  off  before  his  eyes,  but  from  the 
double  shriek,  which  at  the  instant  reached  him  from 
the  deck,  announcing  the  seizure  of  that  more  dear. 
Carmen  and  Inez  were  evidently  made  captive  ;  and, 
from  their  cries  suddenly  ceasing,  he  dreaded  some- 
thing worse.  Had  they  been  stifled  by  death  ?  Being 
reminded  of  an  event  in  Yerba  Buena,  as  also  the 
recognition  of  the  ruffian  who  taunted  him,  but  made  it 
the  more  probable  that  death  had  been  their  fate.  He 
almost  wished  it :  he  would  rather  that,  than  a  doom 
too  horrible  to  think  of. 

The  first  mate?  He  must  have  been  killed  too, 
butchered  while  endeavoring  to  defend  them?  Tne 
unsuspicious  captain  could  not  think  of  his  chief  officer 
having  gone  against  him  ;  and  how  could  Don  Gregorio 
believe  the  man  so  recommended  turning  traitor? 
While  they  are  thus  elf  aritabrv  judging  him,  the}-  receive 
a  crushing  response.  Just  then,  to  their  astonishment, 
they  hear  his  voice  among  the  mutineers,  not  in  expos- 
tulation, or  opposed,  but  as  if  taking  part  with  them. 
One  Striker  is  calling  out  his  name,  to  which  he 
answers  ;  and,  soon  after,  other  speeches  from  his  lips 
sound  clear  through  the  cabin-windows,  open  on  that 
mild  moonlit  night.     Still  listening,  as  they  gazt   in 


316  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTKESS. 

one  another's  face  with  mute,  painful  surprise,  the} 
hear  a  dull  thud  against  the  ship's  side,  —  the  stroke  of 
a  boat-hook  as  the  pinnace  is  shoved  off,  — then  a  rattle, 
as  the  oars  commence  working  in  the  tholes,  succeeded 
by  the  plash  of  the  oar-blades  in  the  water;  after 
that,  the  regular  "  dip-dip,"  at  length  dying  away  as 
the  boat  recedes,  leaving  the  abandoned  vessel  silent 
as  a  graveyard  in  the  mid-hour  of  night. 

Seated  with  face  towards  the  cuddy  windows,  Don 
Gregorio  can  see  through  them ;  and  as  the  bark's  bow 
rises  on  the  swell,  depressing  her  aft,  he  commands  a 
view  of  the  sea  far  astern. 

There  upon  the  surface  he  makes  out  a  dark  object 
moving  away.  It  is  a  boat  filled  with  forms,  ths  oar- 
blades  rising  and  falling  in  measured  stroke,  flashing 
the  phosphorescence  on  both  sides.  No  wonder  at  his 
earnest  look  as  he  bends  his  e}*es  on  that  boat,  — a  gaze 
of  concentrated  anguish.  It  contains  all  that  is  dear 
to  him,  bearing  that  all  away,  he  knows  not  whither, 
to  a  fate  which  chills  his  very  blood  to  reflect  upon. 
He  can  trace  the  outlines  of  land  be3*ond,  and  can  per- 
ceive that  the  boat  is  being  rowed  for  it ;  the  bark  at 
the  same  time  sailing  seaward,  each  instant  widening 
the  distance  between  them.  But  for  a  long  while  he 
can  distinguish  the  black  speck  with  luminous  jets  on 
either  side,  as  the  oar-blades  intermittently  rise  and  fall 
in  the  clear  moonlight,  till  at  length,  entering  within  the 
shadow  of  the  land,  a  line  of  high  cliffs,  he  loses  sight 
cf  it. 

"Gone,  ail  gone!  "  groans  the  bereaved  father,  his 
board  drooping  down  to  his  breast,  his  countenance 
showing  he  has  surrendered  up  his  soul  to  a  despair 
hopeless  as  helpless.  So,  too,  Lantanas,  who  has 
ceased  struggling  and  shouting.     Both  are  now  alike 


A  STORY  OF  THE   SOUTil   SEA.  347 

convinced  of  the  idleness  of  such  demonstrations.  The 
chief  offictr  a  mutineer,  so  must  all  the  others  ;  and  all 
have  forsaken  the  ship.  No,  not  all.  There  is  one 
remains  true,  who  is  still  on  her, — the  black  cook. 
They  hear  his  voice,  though  not  with  any  hope.  It 
comes  from  a  distant  part  in  shouts  and  cries  betoken- 
ing distress.  They  need  look  for  no  help  from  him. 
He  is  either  disabled,  or,  like  themselves,  securely 
bound.  Throughout  the  night  they  hear  it ;  the  inter- 
vals between  becoming  longer,  the  voice  fainter,  till 
he,  also,  yielding  to  despair,  is  silent. 

As  the  morning  sun  shines  in  through  the  stern  win- 
dows, Don  Gregorio  can  see  they  are  out  of  sight  of 
land.  Only  sea  and  sl%y  are  visible  to  him  ;  but  neither 
to  Lantanas,  whose  face  is  the  other  way,  so  fastened 
he  cannot  even  turn  his  head.  The  bark  is  scudding 
before  a  breeze,  which  bears  her  still  farther  into  the 
great  South  Sea,  on  whose  broad  bosom  she  might  beat 
for  weeks,  months,  ay,  till  her  timbers  rot,  without 
sighting  ship,  or  being  herself  descried  by  human  eye. 
Fearful  thought,  appalling  prospect,  to  those  con- 
strained to  sit  at  her  cabin  table !  With  it  in  their 
minds,  the  morning  light  brings  no  jo}7.  Instead,  it 
but  intensifies  their  misery ;  for  they  are  now  sure 
they  have  no  chance  of  being  rescued.  They  sit  hag- 
gard in  their  chairs,  —  for  no  sleep  has  visited  the  ej-es 
of  either,  —  like  men  who  have  been  all  night  long  en- 
gaged in  a  drunken  debauch.  Alas,  how  different ! 
The  glasses  of  wine  before  them  are  no  longer  touched, 
the  fruits  untasted.  Neither  the  bouquet  of  the  one 
nor  the  perfume  of  the  other,  has  any  attraction  fur 
them  now.  Either  is  as  much  beyond  their  reach  as 
if  a  thousand  miles  off,  instead  of  on  a  six-foot  table 
between  them.     Gazing  in  one  another's  faces,  they  ai 


348  THE   FLAG  X)F  DISTRESS. 

times  fancy  it  a  dream.  They  can  scarcely  bring  them- 
selves to  realize  such  a  situation  ;  as  who  could  ?  The 
rude  intrusion  of  the  ruffian  crew,  the  rough  handling 
they  have  had,  the  breaking  open  of  the  lockers,  and 
the  boxes  of  gold  borne  off,  all  seem  the  phantasma- 
goria of  some  fleeting  but  horrible  vision 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

AN     AWKWARD     QUESTION. 

THE  same  sun  that  shines  upon  the  abandoned 
bark  lights  up  the  crew  that  abandoned  her,  on 
the  same  spot  where  the^y  have  made  landing.  As  the 
first  rays  fall  over  the  cliffs  crest,  they  show  a  cove  of 
semicircular  shape,  backed  b}7  a  beetling  precipice. 
A  ledge  or  dike,  sea-washed  and  weed-covered,  trends 
across  its  entrance,  with  a  gate-like  opening  in  the 
centre,  through  which  at  high  tide  the  sea  sweeps  in, 
though  never  quite  up  to  the  base  of  the  cliff.  Between 
this  and  the  strand  lies  the  elevated  platform  already 
spoken  of,  accessible  from  above  by  a  sloping  ravine, 
the  bed  of  a  stream,  running  only  when  it  rains.  As 
said,  it  is  only  an  acre  or  so  in  extent,  and  occupying 
the  inner  concavity  of  the  semicircle.  The  beach  is 
not  visible  from  it,  this  concealed  b}^  the  dry  reef  which 
runs  across  it  as  a  cord.  Only  a  small  portion  of  it 
can  be  seen  through  the  portal  which  admits  the  tidal 
flow ,  Be3Tond,  stretches  the  open  sea  outside  the  siuf 
with  the  breakers  more  than  a  mile  off. ' 
Such  is  the  topography  of  the  place  where  the  muti- 


A   STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  349 

neers  have  made  landing,  and  passed  the  night.  When 
the  day  dawns,  but  little  is  seen  to  betraj"  their  presence 
there.—  only  a  man  seated  upon  a  stone,  nodding  as  if 
asleep,  at  intervals  awakening  with  a  start,  and  grasp- 
ing ac  a  gun  between  his  legs ;  soon  letting  it  go,  and 
again  giving  way  to  slumber,  the  effects  of  that  drunken 
debauch  kept  up  to  a  late  hour  of  the  night.  He  would 
be  a  poor  sentinel,  were  there  need  for  vigilance.  Seem- 
ingly there  is  none.  No  enemy  is  near,  no  human 
being  in  sight ;  the  onl}'  animate  objects  some  sea-birds, 
that,  winging  their  way  along  the  face  of  the  cliff, 
salute  him  with  an  occasional  scream,  as  if  incensed  by 
his  presence  in  a  spot  they  deem  sacred  to  themselves. 

The  sun  fairly  up,  he  rises  to  his  feet,  and  walks 
towards  the  entrance  of  the  larger  cavern  ;  then,  stop- 
ping in  front  of  it,  cries  out,  — 

"  Inside  there,  shipmates !  Sun's  up:  time  to  be 
stirring!  " 

Seeing  him  in  motion,  and  hearing  his  hail,  the  gulls 
gather  and  swoop  around  his  head  in  continuous  scream- 
ing ;  in  larger  numbers,  and  with  cries  more  stridulent, 
as  his  comrades  come  forth  out  of  the  cave,  one  after 
another,  yawning,  and  stretching  their  arms. 

The  first,  looking  seaward,  proposes  to  refresh  him- 
self b}T  a  plunge  in  the  surf,  and  for  this  purpose  starts 
toward  the  beach.  The  others,  taken  with  the  idea, 
follow  in  twos  and  threes,  till,  in  a  string,  all  are  in 
motion.  To  reach  the  strand,  it  is  necessary  for  them 
to  pass  through  the  gap  in  the  transverse  ledge  ;  which 
the  tide,  now  at  ebb,  enables  them  to  do.  He  who 
leads  having  gone  through  it,  on  getting  a  view  of  the 
shore  outside,  suddenly  stops,  as  he  does  so,  sending 
back  a  shout.  It  is  a  cry  of  surprise,  followed  by  the 
startling  announcement,  "  The  boat's  gone  !  " 
30 


850  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

This  should  cause  them  apprehension,  an.  I  would  if 
they  but  knew  the  consequences.  Ignorant  of  these, 
they  make  light  of  it ;  one  saying,  "  Let  her  go,  then ' 
W<  want  no  boats  now." 

"  A  horse  would  be  more  to  our  purpose,"  suggest? 
a  second,  "  or,  for  that  matter,  a  dozen  of  them." 

"  A  dozen  donkeys  would  do,"  adds  a  third,  accom- 
panying his  remark  with  a  horse-laugh.  "  It'll  take 
about  that  man}"  to  pack  our  chattels." 

"  What's  become  of  the  old  pinnace,  anyhow?  "  ask? 
one  in  sober  strain,  as,  having  passed  through  the  rock- 
portal,  the}7  stand  scanning  the  strand.  All  remember 
the  place  where  they  landed,  and  left  the  boat.  They 
see  it  is  not  there. 

' '  Has  any  one  made  awa}-  with  it  ?  " 

The  question  is  asked,  and  instantly  answered,  several 
saying,  No.  Striker,  the  man  who  first  missed  it, 
vouchsafes  the  explanation. 

"  The  return  tide's  taken  it  out,  an',  I  darsa}7,  it's 
broke  to  bits  on  them  theer  breakers." 

All  now  remember  that  it  was  not  properly  moored, 
but  left  with  painter  loose,  and  do  not  wonder  it  went 
adrift.  The}7  care  little,  indeed  nothing,  and  think  of 
it  no  longer,  but,  stripping,  plunge  into  the  surf. 
After  bathing  to  their  hearts'  content,  the}7  return  to 
the  cavern,  and  array  themselves  in  garments  befitted 
to  the  life  they  intend  leading.  Their  tarry  togs  are 
cast  off,  to  be  altogether  abandoned ;  for  each  has  a 
suit  of  shore-clothes,  brought  away  from  the  bark. 

Every  one  rigged  out  in  his  own  peculiar  style,  they 
draw  together  to  deliberate  on  a  plan  of  future  action. 
Breakfast  has  been  already  eaten ;  and  now  cornea 
the  matter  of  greatest  moment,  —  the  partition  of  the 
woils. 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  351 

It  is  done  in  little  time,  and  with  no  great  trouble. 
The  boxes  are  broken  open,  and  the  gold-dust  measured 
out  in  a  pannikin ;  a  like  number  of  measures  appor- 
tioned to  each,  round  and  round. 

In  monejT  value  no  one  knows  the  exact  amount  of 
his  share ;  enough  satisfaction  to  feel  it  is  nigh  as 
much  as  he  can  carry. 

After  each  has  appropriated  his  own,  the3r  commence 
packing  up,  and  preparing  for  the  inland  journey. 
And  now  arises  the  question,  What  wa}r  are  they  to  go  ? 
The}-  have  already  resolved  to  strike  for  the  city  of 
Santiago ;  but  in  what  order  should  they  travel  ?  — 
separate  into  several  parties,  or  go  all  together?  The 
former  plan,  proposed  by  Gomez,  is  supported  by 
Paclilla,  Hernandez,  and  Velarde.  Gomez  gives  his 
reason.  Such  a  large  number  of  pedestrians  along 
roads  where  none  save  horsemen  are  ever  seen  could 
not  fail  to  excite  curiosity.  It  might  cause  incon- 
venient questions  to  be  asked  them,  perhaps  lead  to 
their  being  arrested,  and  taken  before  some  village 
alcaide.     If  so,  what  story  could  they  tell  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  there  will  be  the  chance  of  com- 
ing across  Indians ;  and  as  those  on  the  Veraguan 
coast  are  ranked  among  the  "  bravos,"  —  having  pre- 
served their  independence,  and,  along  with  it,  their 
instinctive  hostility  to  the  whites,  —  an  encounter  with 
them  might  be  even  more  dangerous  than  with  anjT 
alcalde.  Struggling  along  in  squads  of  two  or  three, 
they  would  run  a  risk  of  getting  captured,  or  killed  and 
scalped,  perhaps  all  three. 

This  is  the  suggestion  of  Harry  Blew ;  Striker  tjid 
Davis  alone  favoring  his  view.  All  the  others  go 
against  it ;  Gomez  ridiculing  the  idea  of  danger  from 
red  men,  at  the   same  time  enlarging  on  that  to  be 


352  THE    FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

apprehended  from  white  ones.  As  the  majority  Lav*, 
more  reason  to  fear  civilized  man  than  the  so-called 
savage,  it  ends  in  their  deciding  for  separation.  They 
can  come  together  again  in  Santiago,  if  they  choose  it ; 
or  not,  should  chance  for  good  or  ill  so  determine. 
They  are  all  amply  provided  for  playing  an  independen.1 
part  in  the  drama  of  their  future  lives  ;  and,  with  thia 
pleasant  prospect,  they  may  part  company  without  a 
sigh  of  regret. 

Ah!  something  yet,  still  another  question  to  be 
determined.  The  female  captives  :  how  are  they  to  be 
disposed  of?  They  are  still  within  the  grotto,  unseen, 
as  the  sail-cloth  curtains  it.  Breakfast  has  been  taken 
to  them,  which  they  have  scarce  touched ;  and  the  time 
has  come  for  deciding  what  has  to  be  done  with  them. 
No  one  openly  asks,  or  says  a  word  upon  the  subject, 
though  it  is  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  all.  It  is  a 
delicate  question ;  and  they  are  shy  of  broaching  it. 
There  is  a  sort  of  tacit  impression  there  will  be  diffi- 
culty about  the  appropriation  of  this  portion  of  the 
spoils,  —  an  electricity  in  the  air  that  foretells  dispute 
and  danger.  All  along  it  had  been  understood  that 
two  men  laid  claim  to  them ;  their  claim,  whether  just 
or  not,  hitherto  unquestioned,  or,  at  all  events,  uncon- 
tested—  these,  Gomez  and  Hernandez.  As  the}'  had 
been  ine  original  designers  of -the  foul  deed  now  done, 
their  confederates,  rough  men  of  a  different  stamp, 
little  given  to  love-making,  had  either  not  thought 
about  the  women,  or  deemed  their  possession  of  secon- 
dary importance.  But  now,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  it 
has  become  known  that  two  others  intend  asserting  a 
claim  to  them,  —  one  being  Blew,  the  other  Davis. 

The  mode  of  making  their  journe}-  having  been  defin- 
*£hTely  settled,  there  is   a   short   interregnum,  during 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  353 

nrhich  most  of  those  ready  for  the  road  stand  idling, 
one  or  two,  still  occupied  in  equipping  themselves.  Lk 
Crosse  has  been  sent  up  the  ravine  to  report  how 
things  look  inland.  The  four  Spaniards  have  signified 
their  intention  to  remain  a  little  longer  on  the  ground ; 
while  the  three  Englishmen  have  not  said  when  thej 
will  leave.  They  are  together,  conferring  in  low  voice, 
but  with  an  earnestness  in  their  eyes,  especially  Blew' s, 
which  makes  it  easy  to  guess  the  subject.  Only  the 
theme  of  woman  could  kindle  these  fiery  glances. 

At  length  the  dreaded  interrogatory  is  put;  and 
Gomez  answers,  "They'll,  of  course,  go  with  us, — 
with  Senor  Hernandez  and  myself." 

"I  don't  see  any  of  course  about  it,''  says  Blew. 
"And,  more'n  that,  I  tell  ye  they  don't  go  with  ye: 
leastwise,  not  so  cheap  as  you  think  for." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Blew?"  demands  the 
Spaniard,  his  eyes  showing  anger,  at  the  same  time  a 
certain  uneasiness. 

"  No  .use  yourlosin'  temper,  Gil  Gomez.  You  ain't 
goin'  to  scare  me  :  so  3*011  may  as  well  keep  cool.  By 
doin'  that,  and  listenin',  3'ou'll  larn  what  I  mean  ;  the 
which  is,  that  you  and  Hernandez  have  no  more  right 
to  them  creeturs  in  the  cave  than  any  o'  the  rest  of  us. 
Just  as  the  gold,  so  ought  it  to  be  wi'  the  girls.  In 
coorse,  we  can't  divide  them  all  round,  but  that's  no 
reason  why  any  two  should  take  em,  so  long's  any 
other  two  wants  'em  as  well.  Now,  /wants  one  o' 
them." 

"  And  I  another,"  puts  in  Davis. 

"Yes,"  continues  Blew;  "and  though  I  be  a  bit 
older  than  you,  Mr.  Gomez,  and  not  quite  so  preten- 
tious a  gentleman,  I  can  like  a  pretty  wench  as  well  as 
yersr.lf.     I've  took  a  fancy  to  the  one  wi'  the  tortoise- 
so* 


354  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

shell  hair,  an'  an't  goin'  to  gie  her  up  in  the  slack  wa.y 
>ou  seem  to  be  wishin'." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it's  the  red  one,  Blew,"  says  Davis. 
-  As  I'm  for  the  black  one,  there's  no  rivalry  between 
u«  Her  I  mean  to  be  mine  —  unless  some  better  man 
hinders  me." 

"Well,"  interpolates  Striker,  "  as  'twas  me  first 
put  the  questyun,  I  s'pose  I'll  be  allowed  to  gie  an 
opeenyun?"  No  one  saying  na}',  the  ex-convict  pro- 
ceeds, "As  to  any  one  hevin'  a  speecial  claim  to  them 
weemen,  nobody  has,  an'  nobocly  shed  have.  'Bout 
that,  Blew's  right,  an'  so's  Bill.  An,'  since  the  thing'? 
disputed,  it  oughter  be  settled  in  a  fair  an'  square  "  — 

"You  needn't  waste  your  breath,"  interrupts  Go- 
mez, in  a  tone  of  determination.  "I  admit  no  dis- 
pute in  the  matter.  If  these  gentlemen  insist,  there's 
but  one  way  of  settling.  First,  however,  I'll  say  a 
word  to  explain.  One  of  these  ladies  is  my  sweet- 
heart —  was  before  I  ever  saw  an}'  of  3*ou.  Sehor 
Hernandez  here  can  say  the  same  of  the  other.  Na}T, 
I  ma}r  tell  3*011  more :  they  are  pledged  to  us." 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  cries  Blew,  confronting  the  slanderer, 
and  looking  him  straight  in  the  face.  "A  lie,  Gil 
Gomez,  from  the  bottom  o'  your  black  heart !  " 

"  Enough  !  "  exclaims  Gomez,  now  purple  with  rage. 
"  No  man  can  give  Frank  Lara  the  lie,  and  live  after." 

"  Frank  Lara,  or  whatever  you  majr  call  3-erself,  I'll 
iive  long  enough  to  see  3*011  under  ground,  or,  what's 
more  like,  hangin'  wi'  3-uur  throat  in  a  halter.  Don't 
make  airy  mistake  about  me.     I  can  shoot  straight  as 

you." 

"  Avast,  theer!  "  shouts  Striker  to  De  Lara,  seeing 
the  latter  about  to  iraw  a  pistol.  "  Keep  3-er  hand  olf 
o'  that  ^repun !     If  theer  must  be  a  fight,  let  it  be  a 


A    STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  3SL 

fair  one.  Bat,  before  it  begin,  Jack  Striker  has  a  word 
to  sa}\" 

While  speaking,  he  has  stepped  between  the  two 
men,  stajing  their  encounter. 

"  Yes,  let  the  fight  be  a  fair  one  !  "  demand  several 
voices,  as  the  pirates  come  clustering  around. 

"Look  here,  shipmates !"  continues  Striker,  still 
standing  between  the  two  angry  men,  and  alternately 
eying  them.  "What's  the  use  o'  spillin'  blood  about 
it,  maybe  killin'  one  the  other?  All  for  the  sake  o* 
a  pair  o'  stoopid  girls,  or  a  kupple  o'  pairs,  as  it  be ! 
Take  my  advice,  an'  settle  the  thing  in  a  pacifical  way. 
Maybe  ye  will,  after  ye've  heerd  what  I  intend  pro- 
posal' ;  which  I  darsay'll  be  satisfactory  to  all." 

"  What  is  it,  Jack?  "  asks  one  of  the  outsiders. 

"  First,  then,  I'm  agoin'  to  make  the  observashun, 
that  fightin'  an't  the  way  to  get  them  weeinen,  who- 
ever's  fools  enough  to  fight  for  'em.  Theer's  some  thin* 
to  be  done  besides." 

"  Explain  yourself,  old  Sydney !  What's  to  be  done 
besides  ? ' ' 

"  If  the  gals  are  goin'  to  be  fought  for,  they've  first 
got  to  be  paid  for." 

"How  that?" 

"  How?  What  humbuggin'  stuff  askin'  such  a  ques- 
tyin  !  Han't  we  all  equil  shares  in 'em?  Coorse  we 
have  !  Tharfor,  them  as  wants  'em  must  paj^for  'em ; 
an'  they  as  wants  'em  so  bad  as  to  do  shootin'  for  'em 
sorely  won't  objeck  to  that.  Theer  appear  to  be  four 
candydates  in  the  field  ;  an',  kewrous  enuf,  the3r're  set 
in  pairs,  — two  for  each  one  o'  the  girls.  Now,  'ithout 
refarin'  to  anjr  fightin'  that's  to  be  done,  —  an',  if 
they're  fools  enuf  to  fight,  let  'em,  —  I  say  that  ej'thef 
*vho  eevent}-ally  gits  a  gal  shed  pay  a  considerashin 


356  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

o'  gold-dust  all  roim'  to  the  rest  o'  us  ;  at  the  least  a 
paunikin  apiece.  That's  what  Jack  Striker  propose* 
first." 

"It's  fair,"  says  Slush. 

"Nothing  more  than  our  rights,"  observes  Tarry; 
the  Dane  and  Dutchman  also  indorsing  the  proposal. 

"  I  agree  to  it,"  says  Harry  Blew. 

"I  also,"  adds  Davis. 

De  Lara  —  late  Gomez  —  signifies  his  assent  by  a 
disdainful  nod,  but  without  saying  a  word  ;  Hernandez 
imitating  the  action.  In  fear  of  losing  adherents, 
neither  dares  disapprove  of  it. 

"What  more  have  you  to  say,  Jack?  "  asks  Slush, 
recalling  Striker's  last  words,  which  seemed  to  promise 
something  else. 

"  Not  much.  Only  thet  I  think  it  a  pity,  after  our 
livin'  so  long  in  harmony  thegither,  we  can't  part  same 
way.  Weemen's  allers  been  a  bother  ever  since  I've 
knowd  'em.  An'  I  s'pose  it'll  continue  so  to  the  eend 
o'  the  chapter,  an'  the  eend  o'  some  lives  heer.  I  re- 
peet,  thet  it  be  a  pity  we  shed  hev  to  wind  up  wi'  a 
quarrel  wheer  blood's  bound  to  be  spilt.  Now,  why 
can't  it  be  settled  'ithout  thet?  I  think  I  know  of  a 
way." 

"What  way?" 

"Leave  it  to  the  ladies  theirselves.  Gie  them  the 
chance  o'  who  they'd  like  for  a  protector  ;  same  time 
leftin'  'em  know  they've  got  to  choose  'tween  one  or 
(other.  Let  'em  take  theer  pick,  everybody  unner- 
standin'  afterwards  theer' s  to  be  no  quarrelin'  or 
fightin'.  That's  our  law  in  the  Australyin  bush,  when 
we've  cases  o'  this  kind ;  an'  every  bushranger  nes  to 
bide  by  it.     Why  shedn't  it  be  the  same  heer?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  it?"  asks  Slush.  "It's  a  sood 
law,  just  and  fair  for  all." 


= 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH   SEA.  357 

"I  consent  to  it,"  says  Blew,  with  apparent  reluc- 
tance, as  if  doubtful  of  the  result,  yet  satisfied  to  sub- 
mit to  the  will  of  the  majority.  "  I  mayen't  be  neyther 
so  young  nor  so  good  lookin'  as  Mr.  Gomez,"  he  adds  : 
"  I  know  I  an't  eyther.  Still  I'll  take  1x13' chance.  If 
she  I  lay  claim  to  pronounces  against  me,  I  promise 
to  stand  aside,  and  say  neer  another  word,  much  less 
think  o'  fightin'  for  her.  She  can  go  'long  wi''  him, 
an'  my  blessin'  wf  both." 

"Bravo,  Blew!  You  talk  like  a  good  un.  Don't 
be  afraid  :  we'll  stand  by  }~ou." 

This,  from  several  of  the  outsiders. 

"  Comrades,  "  sa^-s  Davis,  "  I  place  myself  in  your 
hands.  If  my  girl's  against  me,  I'm  willin'  to  give 
her  up,  same  as  Blew." 

What  about  the  other  two  ?  What  answer  will  they 
make  to  the  proposed  peaceful  compromise  ?  All  eyes 
are  turned  on  them,  awaiting  it. 

De  Lara  speaks  first,  his  e}-es  flashing  fire.  Hitherto 
he  has  been  holding  his  anger  in  check ;  but  now  it 
breaks  out,  poured  forth  like  lava  from  a  burning  moun- 
tain. "Carajo!  "  he  cries.  "I've  been  listening  a 
long  time  to  talk,  taking  it  too  coolly.  Idle  talk  all 
of  it,  yours,  Mr.  Striker,  especially.  What  care  we 
about  your  wa}'s  in  the  Australian  bush.  They  won't 
hold  good  here,  or  with  me.  My  style  of  settling  dis- 
putes is  this,  or  this."  He  touches  his  pistol-butt, 
and  then  the  hilt  of  a  machete,  hanging  b}*  Ms  side, 
adding,  "  Mr.  Blew  can  have  his  choice." 

"All  right!"  retorts  the  ex-man-o'-war's-nian. 
•ft  I'm  good  for  a  bout  with  either,  and  don't  care  a  toss 
which, —  pistols  at  six  paces,  or  my  cutlass  against  that 
straight  blade  of  yours.     Both,  if  you  like." 

"  Both  be  it.     That  s  best,  and  will  make  the  end 


358  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

sure.  Get  ready,  and  quick;  for,  as  sure  as  I  stand 
here,  I  intend  fighting  you  !  " 

"  Say  you  intend  tiyin'.  I'm  readj  to  give  you  the 
chance.     You  can  begin  soon's  you  feel  disposed.'' 

Hernandez  hangs  back,  as  though  he  would  rather 
decline  the  combat. 

"  No,  Bill!"  sa}Ts  Striker;  "one  fight  at  a  time, 
Whon  Blew  an'  Gomez  hev  got  through  wi'  theirs,  then 
y(yi  can  gie  Hernandez  his  chance  —  if  so  be  he  care 
to  hev  it." 

Hernandez  appears  gratified  with  Striker's  speech, 
disregarding  the  innuendo.  He  had  no  thought  it 
would  come  to  this,  and  looks  as  if  he  would  surrender 
up  his  sweetheart  without  striking  a  blow.  He  makes 
no  rejoinder,  but  shrinks  back  co wed-like  and  craven. 

44 Yes,  one  fight  at  a  time!"  cry  others,  indorsing 
the  dictum  of  Striker. 

It  is  the  demand  of  the  majority  ;  and  the  minority 
concedes  it.  All  know  it  is  to  be  a  duel  to  the  death. 
A  glance  at  the  antagonists,  at  their  angry  C3'es  and 
determined  attitudes,  makes  this  sure  On  that  lonely 
shore  one  of  the  two  will  sleep  his  last  sleep :  it  may 
be  both. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  859 


CHAPTER    XLVH. 

A    DUEL    ADJOURNED. 

THE  combat  now  declared  inevitable,  its  prelimi- 
naries are  speedily  arranged.  Under  the  circum- 
stances, and  between  such  adversaries,  the  punctilios 
of  ceremony  to  be  satisfied  are  slight ;  for  theirs  is  the 
rough  code  of  honor  common  to  robbers  of  all  coun- 
tries and  climes.  No  seconds  are  chosen,  nor  spoken 
of.  All  on  the  ground  are  to  act  as  such,  and  at  once 
proceed  to  business. 

Some  measure  off  the  distance,  stepping  it  between 
two  stones.  Others  examine  the  pistols  to  see  that 
both  are  loaded  with  ball-cartridge,  and  carefully 
capped.  The  fight  is  to  be  with  Colt's  six-shooters, 
na\y  size.  Each  combatant  chances  to  have  one  of 
this  particular  pattern.  They  are  to  commence  firing 
at  twelve  paces,  and,  if  that  be  ineffectual,  then  close 
up,  as  either  chooses.  If  neither  falls  to  the  shots,  then 
to  finish  with  the  steel. 

The  captives  inside  the  cave  are  ignorant  of  what  ia 
going  on.  Little  dream  the}T  of  the  red  tragedy  soon 
to  be  enacted  so  near,  or  how  much  the}'  themselves 
may  be  affected  by  its  finale.  It  is  indeed  to  them  the 
chances  of  a  contrasting  destiny. 

The  duellists  take  stand  by  the  stones,  twelve  paces 
apart.  Blew,  having  stripped  off  his  pilot-cloth  coat, 
is  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  These,  rolled  up  to  the  elbow, 
expose  ranges  of  tattooing,  fouled  anchors,  stars,  cres- 


360  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

cents,  and  sweethearts,  —  a  perfect  medley  of  fore- 
castle souvenirs.  They  show  also  muscles  lying  along 
his  arms  like  cording  upon  a  ship's  stay.  Should  the 
shots  fail,  those  arms  promise  well  for  wielding  the 
cutlass;  and,  if  his  fingers  clutch  his  antagonist's 
throat,  the  struggle  will  be  a  short  one. 

Still  no  weak  adversary  will  he  meet  in  Francisco 
de  Lara.  He,  too,  has  laid  aside  his  outer  garments*, 
thrown  off  his  scarlet  cloak  and  the  heavy  hat.  He 
does  not  need  stripping  to  the  shirt-sleeves :  his  light 
jaqueta  of  velveteen  in  no  way  encumbers  him.  Fit- 
ting like  a  glove,  it  displays  arras  of  muscular  strength, 
with  a  body  in  s}Tmmetrical  correspondence. 

A  duel  between  two  such  gladiators  might  be  pain- 
ful, but,  for  all,  a  fearfully  interesting  spectacle.  Those 
about  to  witness  it  seem  to  think  so,  as  they  stand 
silent,  with  breath  bated,  and  glances  bent  alternately 
on  one  and  the  other. 

As  it  has  been  arranged  that  Striker  is  to  give  the 
signal,  the  ex-convict,  standing  centrally  outside  the 
line  of  fire,  is  about  to  sajT  a  word  that  will  set  two 
men,  mad  as  tigers,  at  one  another,  each  with  full 
resolve  to  fire,  cut  down,  and  kill. 

There  is  a  moment  of  intense  stillness,  like  the  lull 
which  precedes  a  storm  ;  nothing  heard  save  the  tidal 
wash  against  the  near  strand,  the  boom  of  the  distant 
breakers,  and  at  intervals  the  shrill  scream  of  a  sea-bird. 

The  customary  "Ready"  is  forming  on  Striker's 
lips,  to  be  followed  by  the  "  Fire  !  One,  two,  three  !  "" 
No  one  of  these  words,  not  a  S3Tllable,  is  he  permitted 
to  speak.  Before  he  can  give  utterance  to  the  first,  a 
cry  comes  down  from  the  cliff,  which  arrests  the  atten- 
tion of  all,  soon  as  understood,  enchaining  it. 

It  is  La  Crosse  who  sends  it,  shouting  in  accents  of 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  o63 

alarm,  *' Monsieur  Blew!  Comrades!  We're  on  an 
island  ! ' ' 

When  the  forest  is  on  fire,  or  the  savanna  swept  by 
flood,  and  their  wild  denizens  flee  to  a  spot  uninvaded, 
the  timid  deer  is  safe  beside  the  fierce  wolf  or  treacher- 
ous cougar  :  in  face  of  the  common  danger,  they  will 
stand  trembling  together ;  the  beasts  of  prey,  for  the 
time,  gentle  as  their  victims.  So  with  human  kind  ;  a 
parallel  being  furnished  by  the  pirate  crew  of  the 
"  Condor,"  and  their  captives. 

The  former,  on  hearing  the  cry  of  La  Crosse,  are  at 
first  only  startled.  Soon  their  surprise  changes  to  ap- 
prehension, keen  enough  to  stay  the  threatening  fight, 
and  indefinitely  postpone  it.  For  at  the  words,  "We're 
on  an  island,"  the}*  are  impressed  with  an  instinctive 
sense  of  danger ;  and  all,  combatants  as  spectators, 
rush  up  the  ravine  to  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  where  La 
Crosse  is  still  standing. 

Arrived  there,  and  casting  their  eyes  inland,  they 
have  evidence  of  the  truth  of  his  assertion.  A  strait, 
leagues  in  width,  separates  them  from  the  mainland, 
far  too  wide  to  be  crossed  by  the  strongest  swimmer 
amongst  them,  too  wide  for  them  to  be  descried  from 
the  opposite  side,  even  through  a  telescope.  The  island 
on  which  they  have  beached  their  boat  is  a  mere  strip 
of  sea-washed  rock,  running  parallel  to  the  coast,  cliff- 
bound,  table-topped,  sterile,  treeless,  and  to  all  appear- 
ance waterless. 

As  this  last  thought  comes  uppermost,  along  with 
the  recollection  that  their  boat  is  lost,  what  was  at  first 
only  a  flurry  of  excited  apprehension  becomes  a  fixed 
fear,  still  further  intensified,  when,  after  scattering 
over  the  islet,  and  exploring  it  from  end  to  end,  they 
again  come  together,  and  each  party  delivers  its  report . 

31 


362  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

No  wood,  save  some  stunted  bushes ;  no  water,  — 
stream,  pond,  or  spring,  —  only  that  of  the  salt  sea  rip* 
pling  around ;  no  sign  of  animal  life,  except  snakes, 
scorpions,  and  lizards,  with  the  birds  flying  above, 
screaming,  as  if  in  triumph  at  the  intruders  upon  their 
domain  being  thus  entrapped ;  for  they  are  so,  and 
clearly  comprehend  it.  Most  of  them  are  men  who 
have  professionally  followed  the  sea,  and  understand 
what  it  is  to  be  "  castaways."  Some  have  had  experi- 
ence of  it  in  their  time,  and  need  no  reminding  of  its 
dangers.  To  a  man,  they  feel  their  safety  as  much 
compromised  as  if  the  spot  of  earth  under  their  feet, 
instead  of  being  but  three  leagues  from  land  (for  such 
it  seems) ,  were  three  thousand  ;  for  that  matter,  in  the 
middle  of  the  Pacific  itself.  What  would  they  not  now 
give  to  be  again  on  board  the  bark  sent  sailing  thither 
to  miserably  sink  !  Ah !  their  cruelty  ha*s  come  back 
upon  them  like  a  curse. 

The  interrupted  duel  —  what  of  it?  Nothing.  It  is 
not  likely  ever  to  be  fought.  Between  the  ci-devant 
combatants,  mad  anger  and  jealous  rivalry  ma\r  still 
remain ;  but  neither  shows  it  now,  both  subdued  in 
contemplation  of  the  common  peril ;  Blew  apparently 
less  affected  than  his  antagonist.  But  all  are  fright- 
ened, —  awed  by  a  combination  of  occurrences  that 
look  as  though  an  avenging  angel  had  been  sent  to 
punish  them  for  their  crimes. 

From  that  moment  Carmen  Montijo  and  Inez  Alvarez 
are  safe  in  their  midst  as  if  promenading  the  streets  of 
Cadi?,  or  flirting  their  fans  at  the  successful  matador,  — 
safe  as  far  as  being  molested  by  the  ruffians  around 
them,  3Tet,  alas !  exposed  to  the  danger  overhanging 
all,  —  death  from  starvation. 

But  surely  some  means  will  be  discovered  to  escape 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  363 

from  the  island?  or,  remaining  upon  it,  a  way  to  sus- 
tain life  ?  Questions  asked,  and  hopes  indulged  in,  that, 
as  the  days  pass,  prove  delusive.  Not  a  stick  of  tim- 
ber out  of  which  to  construct  a  raft ;  nothing  for  food, 
save  reptiles  on  the  land,  and  shell-fish  in  the  sea,  these 
scarce,  and  difficult  of  collection.  Now  and  then  a 
bird,  its  flesh  ill  favored  and  rank.  But  the  want 
above  all  —  water.  For  days,  not  a  drop  is  obtained, 
till  their  throats  feel  as  if  on  fire.  Plenty  of  it  around, 
too  much.  But  it  is  as  with  Tantalus.  The  briny 
deep  the}r  ma}-  touch,  but  not  taste.  It  makes  them 
mad  to  gaze  on  it :  to  drink  of  it  would  but  madden 
them  the  more. 

A  fearful  fate  now  threatens  the  crew  of  the  u  Con- 
dor," in  horror,  equalling  that  to  which  those  left 
aboard  of  her  have  been  consigned.  "Well  may  they 
deem  it  a  retribution,  that  God's  hand  is  upon  them, 
meting  out  a  punishment  apportioned  to  their  crime. 
But  surely  he  will  not  permit  the  innocent  to  suffer 
with  the  guilty.     Let  us  hope,  pray,  he  will  not. 


CHAPTER    XLVin. 

LONG    SUFFERING, 

SEVERAL  days  have  elapsed  since  the  desertion  of 
her  crew;  and  the  "  Condor"  is  still  afloat,  sail- 
ing in  a  south-westerly  direction,  with  full  canvas  set, 
just  as  when  the  pirates  put  away  from  her.  Why  she 
has  not  gone  to  the  bottom  is  known  but  to  two  men,  — 
they  ntrusted  with  the  scuttling.     And  just  as  whes 


864  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

left  are  the  three  unfortunate  beings  aboard,  —the  blacX 
cook  on  his  ga'ley-bench,  the  captain  and  his  passenger 
vis-a-vis,  bound  at  the  cabin-table,  upright  in  ':heir 
chairs.  But,  though  their  attitudes  are  unchanged, 
there  is  a  marked  change  in  their  appearance,  especial- 
ly those  who  occupy  the  cabin ;  for  the  white  man 
shows  the  effect  of  physical  suffering  sooner  than  the 
Ethiopian.  For  long  days  they  have  been  enduring 
agony  great  as  ever  tortured  Tantalus.  It  has  made 
fearful  inroad  on  their  strength,  on  their  frames.  Both 
are  reduced  almost  to  skeletons,  cheek-bones  protrud- 
ing, eyes  sunken  in  their  sockets.  Were  the  cords 
that  confine  them  suddenly  taken  off,  they  would  sink 
helpless  to  the  floor. 

Not  all  this  time  have  the}'  been  silent.  At  intervals 
the}7  have  conversed  upon  their  desperate  situation, 
for  the  first  day  with  some  lingering  hope  of  being 
released,  but  afterwards  despairingly,  as  the  hours 
pass,  and  nothing  occurs  to  alter  it.  Now  and  then 
they  have  heard  cries  on  deck,  knowing  the}'  are  from 
the  cook,  whom  they  now  feel  sure  is,  like  themselves, 
fast  bound  in  the  forward  part  of  the  vessel.  At  first 
they  answered  them,  till  finding  it  an  idle  effort ;  and 
now  their  feeble  strength  forbids  even  the  exertion  of 
their  voices. 

Long  since  have  the  two  men  given  up  making 
attempts  to  i  ntie  themselves :  now  they  have  also 
? eased  to  converse,  or  only  at  periods  long  apart.  Lan- 
tanas,  after  his  first  throes  of  fierce  rage,  has  sunk  into 
a  sort  of  stupor,  and,  with  head  drooping  down  to  his 
breast,  appears  as  if  Lfe  had  left  him.  Don  Gregorio, 
on  the  contrary,  holds  his  erect ;  at  least  during  most 
part  of  the  day,  for  before  him  is  something  to  be 
Been,  —  the  sea  through  the  stern  windows,  still  open 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  36S 

He  keeps  his  eyes  bent  on  it  aabitually,  though  not 
with  much  hope  of  there  seeing  aught  tc  cheer  him. 
On  its  blue  expanse  he  beholds  but  a  streak  of  white, 
the  frothing  water  in  the  vessel's  wake,  now  and  then  a 
"  school  "  of  tumbling  porpoises,  or  the  "  spout  "  of  a 
cachalot  whale.  Once,  however,  an  object  cnnes 
within  his  field  of  vision,  which  causes  him  to  start, 
writhe  in  his  ropes,  and  cry  out  to  the  utmost  of  his 
strength  ;  for  it  is  a  ship  in  full  sail,  crossing  the  u  Con- 
dor's "  track,  and  scarce  a  cable's  length  astern.  He 
hears  a  hail,  and  calls  out  in  response,  Lantanas  join- 
ing him.  And  the  two  keep  shouting  for  hours  after, 
till  their  feeble  voices  fail  them  ;  and  they  again  resign 
themselves  to  a  despondency  hopeless  as  ever.  All 
their  shouts  have  brought  them  are  the  Bornean  apes, 
that  are  heard  scampering  up  and  down  the  cabin-stair, 
dashing  their  uncouth  bodies  against  the  closed  door. 

The  Chilian  has  long  ago  surrendered  to  despair; 
while  Don  Gregorio,  who  has  also  lost  hope  of  help 
from  man,  still  has  faith  in  Heaven.  With  unabated 
fervor,  he  entreats  for  mercy  from  above ;  and,  as  he 
does  so,  the  Chilian  captain  gives  wa}T  to  a  parox3'sm 
of  frenzy,  raving  as  he  bewails  his  unhappy  fate.  For 
long  he  continues  to  rave.  Don  Gregorio  makes  no 
effort  to  hold  converse  with  him.  The  sight  is  suffi- 
cient^ painful,  suggestive  of  what  ma}T  be  his  own 
fate,  as  sweeps  through  his  soul  the  thought  of  his 
accumulated  calamities.  He  wishes  that  death  would 
relieve  him,  and  has  prayed  for  it  more  than  once.  He 
pra}'s  for  it  again,  silently,  with  his  ej-es  resting  on  the 
sea.  He  awaits  the  final  hour,  longing  for  it  to  come, 
his  features  set  in  calm,  Christian  resignation. 

Suddenly  their  expression  changes,  a  ray  of  renewed 
hope  shooting  athwart  his  face.  Not  a  ra}-,  but  a  beum, 
31* 


366  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

which  spreads  over  his  whole  countenance,  while  his 
eyes  kindle  into  cheerfulness,  and  his  l'ps  seem  paitcu* 
in  a  smile.  Is  he  about  to  echo  the  mad  laugh  of  Lau* 
tanas? 

No !  In  that  look  there  is  no  sign  of  unseated  rca 
son.  On  the  contrary,  he  gazes  with  intelligent 
earnestness,  as  at  something  outside  demanding  inves- 
tigation. Soon  his  lips  part  farther,  not  to  smile,  but 
speak  words  that  involuntarily  issue  from  them.  Only 
two  little  words,  but  of  large  import  and  greatest  cheer, 
"A  sail!" 

For  such  he  has  espied,  —  a  white  speck,  away  off  on 
the  line  that  separates  the  two  blues,  but  distinguisha- 
ble from  waif  of  floating  foam,  or  wing  of  gull.  Be- 
j'ond  doubt,  a  sail  —  a  ship!  Once  more  hope  is  in 
his  heart,  which,  bounding  up,  beats  audibly  within  his 
breast,  higher  and  louder,  as  the  white  speck  shows 
larger,  assuming  shape ;  for  the  tall,  narrow  disk, 
rising  tower-like  against  the  sky,  can  only  be  the  spread 
canvas  of  a  ship.  And,  gradually  growing  taller,  he  at 
length  can  tell  she  is  standing  towards  the  bark. 
Intently  he  continues  to  watch  the  distant  sail ;  si- 
lently, without  saying  aught  of  it  to  his  companion,  or 
in  any  wa}r  communicating  with  him.  It  would  be  use- 
less now :  the  mind  of  the  Chilian  is  closed  against 
outward  things  ;  and  it  is  not  the  time  to  open  it. 

Hopefully  Don  Gregorio  keeps  gazing,  yet  not  with- 
out anxiety.  Once  before  has  he  had  disappointment 
from  a  similar  sight :  it  ma}7  be  so  again.  But,  no. 
That  ship  was  standing  across  the  "  Condors  "  track  ; 
while  this  is  sailing  in  the  same  course,  sailing  after, 
apparent^  with  the  intention  to  come  up  ;  and,  though 
slowly,  surety  drawing  nearer,  as  he  can  tell  b}r  the 
canvas  increasing  in  bulk,  growing  broader,  and  loom 
ing  higher. 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.'  367 

A  long  time,  however,  elapses,  —  nearly  half  a  day, 
—  during  which  he  has  many  hopes  and  fears,  alternat- 
ing as  the  hours  pass  But  the  former  are  at  length 
in  the  ascendant ;  and  all  anxiety  passes  as  the  pursu- 
ing ship  shows  her  dark  hull  above  the  water-line,  and 
he  can  distinguish  her  separate  sails.  They  are  all 
set.  What  joy  in  his  heart  as  his  e}-es  rest  on  them ! 
The}'  seem  the  wings  of  merciful  angels,  coming  to 
relieve  him  from  his  miseiy.  And  that  flag  floating 
above,  — the  flag  of  England  !  Were  it  the  banner  of 
his  own  Spair,  he  could  not  regard  it  with  greater 
gladness  or  gratitude ;  for  surely  he  will  be  saved 
now.  Alas  !  while  thus  congratulating  himself,  he  sees 
that  which  causes  his  heart  again  to  sink  within  him, 
bringing  back  keenest  apprehensions.  The  strange 
vessel  is  still  a  far  way  behind ;  and  the  breeze  impell- 
ing her,  light  all  along,  has  suddenly  died  down,  not 
a  ripple  showing  on  the  sea's  surface,  while  her  sails 
now  hang  loose  and  limp.  Beyond  doubt  is  she  be- 
calmed. 

But  the  "Condor?"  Will  she,  too,  cease  sailing? 
Yes,  she  must,  from  the  same  cause.  Already  she 
moves  slowly,  scarce  making  way.  And  now  —  now  she 
is  motionless.  The  glass  rack  and  lamps  overhead  hang 
stead)*,  without  the  slightest  oscillation.  But  the  bark 
graduall}'  swings  round  ;  and  he  loses  sight  of  the  ship. 
Through  the  windows  he  still  beholds  the  sea,  calm  and 
blue,  but  vacant ;  no  outline  of  hull,  no  expanded 
sails,  no  flouting  flag  to  keep  up  his  heart,  which  for 
a  while  is  down,  almost  despondent.  But  only  for  a 
short  time,  again  rising  as  the  bark,  sheering  round, 
brings  once  more  stern  towards  the  ship,  and  he  sees 
the  latter,  and  something  besides, —  a  boat !  It  is  down 
in  the  water,  and  corning  on  toward  the  "  Condor,' '  the 


368  THE  FLAG   OF  LzSTRESS. 

oar-blades  flashing  in  the  sun,  and  flinging  spray-drops 
that  seem  like  silver  stars.  The  bark  eddying  on,  he 
has  the  boat  in  view  but  a  short  while.  What  matters 
it  now  ?  He  is  no  more  apprehensive,  but  certain  of 
lining  raved,  and  he  looks  no  longer,  only  listens ; 
soon  to  hear  words  spoken  in  a  strong  manly  voice,  to 
him  sweeter  than  music.     It  is  the  hail, — 

"Bark  ahoy!" 

In  feeble  accents  he  makes  answer,  continuing  to 
call  out  till  other  voices,  echoing  along  the  "  Condor's" 
decks,  become  commingled  with  his  own.  Then  there 
are  footsteps  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  they  are  soon 
after  heard  descending  the  cabin-stair.  The  handle  is 
turned,  the  door  pushed  open ;  and  a  swish  of  fresh 
air  sweeps  in,  human  beings  along  with  it,  as  they 
enter,  giving  utterance  to  exclamations  of  astonish- 
ment. 

Wrenching  his  neck  around,  he  sees  there  are  two  of 
them,  both  in  the  uniform  of  naval  officers,  and  both 
known  to  him.  Their  presence  gives  him  many  emo- 
tions, too  many  for  his  strength,  so  long  and  sorely 
tried.  Overpowered  by  it,  he  becomes  unconscious,  as 
though  the  sight,  instead  of  gladdening,  had  suddenly 
deprived  him  of  life. 

No  need  to  say  that  the  officers  who  have  entered 
the  "Condor's"  cabin  are  Crozier  and  Cadwallader ; 
for  she  is  the  polacca  bark  we  have  seen  chased  ty  a 
frigate,  that  frigate  the  "Crusader." 


A  STORY    OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA.  369 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A  CARD  UNEXPECTEDLY  RECOVERED. 

IT  is  the  fourth  day  since  the  English  officers^ 
lieutenant,  midshipman,  and  cockswain — boarded 
the  Chilian  bark.  They  are  still  on  board  of  her,  and 
she  yet  afloat,  —  the  one  a  sequence  of  the  other. 
Otherwise,  she  would  now  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
For  the  squall  that  struck  her  would  have  thrown  her  on 
her  beam-ends,  but  that  her  sheets  and  halyards  were 
cast  loose  at  an  opportune  moment,  so  saving  her  from 
certain  destruction.  Her  sails  have  suffered,  neverthe- 
less ;  scarce  one  that  was  not  torn  to  shreds,  excepting 
a  storm-stay  and  trysail,  which  they  were  enabled  to  set 
during  the  gale.  And  now  that  it  is  over,  they  have 
managed  to  bend  on  a  new  foresail  and  jib,  found 
among  the  bark's  spare  canvas.  With  these  she  is 
making  way  at  the  rate  of  some  six  knots  an  hour,  her 
head  set  east  by  south.  A  grim,  terrible  fight  that 
squall  gave  them ;  only  the  three  men  to  manage  so 
large  a  craft  in  a  tempest,  which,  though  short  lived, 
was  as  fierce  as  ever  swept  over  the  Pacific.  They  had 
no  aid  from  any  of  the  other  three ;  nor  from  two  of 
them  have  the}'  any  yet.  Capt.  Lantanas  is  still  deliri- 
ous, locked  up  in  his  state-room,  lest,  in  his  madness, 
he  ma}r  do  some  violent  act ;  while  Don  Gregorio, 
weak  as  a  chiki,  reclines  on  the  cabin  settee,  unable  to 
ascend  to  the  deck.  The  negro  alone,  having  partially 
recovered  strength,  lends  some  assistance  at  the  sails. 


870  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTKE39. 

It  is  twelve  o'clock  meridian ;  and  Grummet,  the 
cockswain,  is  at  the  wheel ;  the  officers  on  the  quarter, 
Crozier,  sextant  in  hand,  "  shooting  the.  sun."  The}7 
have  long  ago  given  up  hope  of  finding  the  frigate,  or 
being  found  by  her. 

The  signal  gun,  heard  b}7  them  repeatedly  throughout 
that  wild  night,  they  could  not  answer,  neither,  in  the 
fog,  know  its  direction.  At  the  time,  it  sounded  like 
their  death-knell ;  and  now  any  chance  of  their  coming 
across  the  "  Crusader"  is  as  one  in  a  thousand.  Aware 
of  this,  they  are  steering  the  crippled  vessel  towards 
Panama,  in  hope  of  there  finding  the  frigate.  In  any 
case,  that  is  the  port  where  they  will  be  most  likely  to 
get  tidings  of  her. 

A  prey  to  saddened  thoughts  are  the  two  young 
officers,  as  they  stand  on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  Chili- 
an vessel,  taking  the  altitude  of  the  sun,  with  instru- 
ments her  own  skipper  is  no  longer  able  to  use.  For- 
tunately, these  things  had  not  been  carried  off,  else 
there  would  be  but  little  likelihood  of  their  making 
Panama.  At  best,  the}7  will  reach  it  with  broken 
hearts  ;  for  they  have  heard  the  whole  story  in  all  its 
dark  details,  so  far  as  Don  Gregorio  could  give  them. 

Having  alread}'  determined  their  longitude  by  the 
bark's  chronometer,  they  have  kept  it  by  log-reckoning ; 
and  their  present  observation  is  but  to  confirm  them  in 
the  latitude. 

"  Starboard  your  helm!  "  shouts  Crozier  to  Grum- 
met. "  Give  her  another  point  to  port.  Keep  her 
east  by  south.     Stead}' ! " 

Then  turning  to  Cadwallader,  he  says,  "If  all  goes 
well,  we  shall  make  Panama,  in  less  than  four  days 
We  might  do  it  in  two,  if  we  could  but  set  sail  enough 
Anyhow,  I  think  ol  1  Bracebridge  will  wait  for  us  a 


A  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  371 

least  a  week.  Ah!  I  wish  that  were  all  we  had  to 
trouble  us.  To  think  they're  gone  —  lost  to  us  — for- 
ever ! " 

"  Don't  say  that,  Ned.  There's  still  a  hope  we  may 
find  them." 

"  And  found  —  what  then?  You  needn't  answer, 
Will :  I  don't  wish  to  speak  of  it:  I  daren't  trust  my- 
self to  think  of  it.  Carmen  Montijo,  my  betrothed, 
captive  to  a  crew  of  pirates !  "  . 

Cadwallader  is  silent.  He  suffers  the  same  agony, 
thinking  of  Inez. 

For  a  time  the  picture  remains  before  their  minds, 
dark  as  their  gloomiest  fears  and  fancies  can  paint  it. 
Then  across  it  shoots  a  ray  of  hope,  sinister,  but 
sweet ;  for  it  is  a  thought  of  vengeance.  Cadwallader 
first  gives  expression  to  it. 

"  Whatever  has  happened  to  the  girls,  we  shall  go 
after  them  anyhow.  And  the  robbers  —  we  must  find 
them." 

"Find  and  punish  them,,,  cries  Crozier.  "  That  we 
surely  shall !  If  it  cost  all  my  money,  all  the  work  of 
my  life,  I'll  revenge  the  wrongs  of  Carmen  Montijo." 

"  And  I  those  of  Inez  Alvarez." 

For  a  while  they  stand  silently  brooding  upon  that 
which  has  brought  such  black  shadow  over  their  hearts  ; 
then  Cadwallader  says, — 

"They  must  have  plotted  it  all  before  leaving  San 
Francisco,  and  shipped  aboard  the  Chilian  vessel  for 
the  express  purpose  of  getting  this  gold.  That's  Don 
Gregorio's  idea  of  it,  borne  out  by  what  he  heard  from 
that  riuTian  he  knew  there  —  Roca?  the  name,  he  says." 

"It  seems  probable,  indeed  certain,"  rejoins  Cro- 
zier; "though  it  don't  much  matter  how  or  when 
tbey  planned  the  wicked  deed.     Enough  that  they've 


372  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

done  it.  But  to  think  of  Harry  Blew  turning  traitor, 
and  taking  part  with  them  !  That  is  to  rne  the  stran- 
gest thing  of  all,  and  painful  as  strange." 

" But  do  you  believe  he  has  done  so?" 

"  How  can  I  help  believing  it?  What  Don  Gregorio 
heard  leaves  no  alternative.  He  went  off  in  the  boat 
along  with  the  rest,  besides  saying  words  which  prove 
he  went  willingly.  Only  to  think  of  such  black  ingrati- 
tude !  Cadwallader,  I'd  as  soon  have  thought  of  sus« 
pecting  yourself !  " 

i;His  conduct,  certainly,  seems  incredible.  I  be- 
lieved Blew  to  be  a  thoroughly  honest  fellow.  No 
doubt  the  gold  corrupted  him,  as  it  has  many  a  better 
man.  But  let's  think  no  more  about  it,  only  hope  we 
may  some  da}'  lay  hands  on  him." 

"  Ah  1  If  I  ever  do  that !  With  my  arms  around 
him,  I  once  saved  his  worthless  life.  Let  me  but  get 
him  into  my  embrace  again,  and  he'll  have  a  hug 
that'll  squeeze  the  last  breath  out  of  his  bod}7." 

"  The  chance  may  come  yet,  and  with  the  whole 
scoundrelly  crew.  What  brutes  the}'  must  have  been  ! 
According  to  Don  Gregorio' s  account,  they  were  of  all 
nations,  and  the  worst  sort  of  each.  The  negro  says 
the  same.  Among  them  four  that  spoke  Spanish,  and 
appeared  to  be  Spaniards,  or  Spanish  Americans. 
Suppose  we  pay  a  visit  to  the  forecastle,  and  see  if  we 
can  find  any  record  of  their  names.  It  might  be  of 
use  hereafter." 

"  By  all  means!"  assents  the  lieutenant;  and  the 
two  start  for  the  fore-deck  in  silence,  with  anxiety 
upon  their  faces ;  for  there  is  a  thought  in  theii 
hearts  which  neither  has  yet  made  known  to  the  other, 
—  blacker  and  more  bitter  than  the  knowledge  of 
Harry  Blew's  treason.     Unspoken,  the}-  carry  it  intc 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  373 

the  forecastle ;  but  they  are  not  many  minutes  there, 
before  seeing  what  brings  it  out,  without  either  having 
spoken  a  word.  A  bunk,  the  most  conspicuous  of  the 
two  tiers,  is  explored  first.  Among  its  scattered 
contents  are  papers  of  various  sorts,  -r-  some  letters, 
several  numbers  of  an  old  newspaper,  and  a  pack  of 
Spanish  cards.  Beside  these  is  one  of  a  different  kind, 
—  a  little  bit  of  white  card,  with  a  name  printed  upon 
it  a  visiting-card  —  but  whose?  As  Crozier  picks 
it  upj  and  reads  the  name,  his  blood  curdles,  the  hair 
crisping  on  his  head,  —  "Mr.  Edward  Crozier, 
H.B.M.  Frigate  Crusader." 

He  does  not  need  to  be  told  how  his  card  came  there. 
Intuitively  he  understands,  remembering  when,  where, 
and  to  whom,  he  gave  it,  —  to  De  Lara  on  the  day  of 
their  encounter  in  front  of  Don  Gregorio's  house. 
Thrusting  it  into  his  pocket,  he  clutches  at  the  letters, 
and  looks  at  their  superscription,  —  "  Don  Francisco  de 
Lara."  Opening  them,  he  rapidly  reads  one  after  the 
other.  His  hands  holding  them  shake  as  with  a  palsy, 
while  in  his  eyes  there  is  an  expression  of  a  painful 
nature  ;  for  he  fears,  that,  subscribed  to  some,  he  will 
find  a  name  dear  to  him,  —  that  of  Carmen  Montijo. 
If  so,  farewell  to  all  faith  in  human  kind.  Harry 
Blew's  ingratitude  has  destro}red  his  belief  in  man.  A 
letter  from  the  daughter  of  Don  Gregorio  Montijo  to 
the  gambler  Frank  Lara  will  alike  wither  his  confi- 
dence in  woman. 

With  eager  eyes,  and  lips  compressed,  he  continues 
the  perusal  of  the  letters.  The}7  are  from  mairy  corre- 
spondents, and  relate  to  various  matters,  most  about 
monej7  and  monte,  signed  u  Faustino  Calderon."  As 
the  last  passes  through  his  fingers,  he  breathes  freel}*, 
though  with  a  shrug  of  self-reproach  for  having 
32 


374  THE  FLAG.  OF   DISTRESS. 

dor.oted  the  woman  who  was  to  have  been  bis  wife 
Turning  to  Cadwallader, —  as  himself,  aware   of  all,— 
he  says  in  solemn  emphasis, — 
u  Now  we  know!  " 


CHAPTER    L. 

THE     LAST     LEAF     IN    THE     LOO. 

NO  common  pirates,  then,  no  mere  crew  of  muti- 
nous sailors,  have  carried  off  Carmen  Montijo 
and  Inez  Alvarez.  It  has  been  done  by  De  Lara  and 
Calderon  ;  for,  although  there  is  no  evidence  of  the 
latter  having  been  aboard  the  bark,  it  is  deducible,  and 
not  even  doubtful.  With  a  design  such  as  that  before 
them,  the  confederates  were  not  likely  to  have  parted. 

Several  hours  have  elapsed  since  the  discovery ;  and 
the  young  officers,  again  upon  the  quarter-deck,  stand 
gazing  in  one  another's  faces,  on  both  an  expression 
of  anguish,  which  the  new  knowledge  has  intensified. 
It  was  painful  to  think  of  their  sweethearts  being  the 
sport  of  rough  robbers ;  but  to  picture  them  in  the 
power  of  Francisco  de  Lara  and  Faustino  Calderon, 
knowing  what  they  do  of  these  men,  is  agony  itself. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  clear,"  says  Crozier.  "  No  idea  of 
getting  gold  has  brought  the  thing  about.  That  may 
have  influenced  the  others  who  assisted  them  ;  but  with 
them  the  motive  was  different,  r,s  fiendish.  I  see  it 
now." 

"Do  yon  know,  Ned,  I  half  suspected  it  from  the 
llrst.     You  remember  what  I  sai  \  as  we  were  leaving 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  375 

San  Francisco.  After  what  happened  between  us  and 
the  gamblers,  I  had  my  fears  about  our  girls  being  left 
in  the  same  place  with  them.  Still,  who'd  have  thought 
of  their  following  them  aboard  ship?  —  above  all,  with 
Blew  there,  and  after  his  promise  to  protect  them? 
You  remember  him  saying  he'd  lay  down  his  life  for 
theirs?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  If  ever  I  find  him,  I  shall  mate 
him  surfer  for  that  broken  promise.' ' 

"  "What  do  you  propose  doing  after  we  reach  Pana- 
ma? If  we  find  the  frigate  there,  we'll  be  obliged  to 
join  her." 

"  Obliged  !  There's  no  obligation  to  bind  a  man  reck- 
less as  I  —  as  this  misery  makes  me.  Unless  Capt. 
Bracebridge  consent  to  assist  us  in  the  search,  I'll  go 
alone." 

"  Not  alone.     There's  one  will  be  with  you." 

"I  know  it,  Will.  Of  course,  I  count  upon  you. 
What  I  mean  is,  if  Bracebridge  won't  help  us  with 
the  frigate,  I'll  throw  up  nry  commission,  charter  a 
vessel  nryself,  engage  a  crew,  and  search  every  inch 
of  the  American  coast  till  I  find  where  they've  put 
in." 

"  What  a  pit}'  we  can't  tell  the  place  !  They  must 
have  been  near  land  to  take  to  an  open  boat." 

"In  sight  of,  close  to  it.  I've  been  questioning 
Don  Gregorio.  He  knows  that  much,  and  but  little 
besides.  The  poor  gentleman  is  almost  as  crazed  as 
the  skipper.  A  wonder  he's  not  more.  He  says  they 
had  sighted  land  that  very  morning  —  the  first  since 
leaving  California.  The  captain  told  them  they  would 
be  in  Panama  about  two  ckiys  after.  As  the  boat  was 
being  rowed  awa}T,  Don  Gregorio  saw  it  through  the 
cabin- windows.      They   appeared  to    make  for   some 


37(3  THE  FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

land  not  far  off,  lighted  up  by  a  clear  moonlight.    Tha  t's 
all  I  can  get  out  of  him." 

" The  old  negro  —  can  he  tell  no  better  story:   ' 

"  I've  questioned  him  too.  He's  equally  sure  of 
their  having  been  close  in  to  the  coast.  What  point, 
he  has  no  idea  any  more  than  the  orangs.  However, 
he  states  a  particular  fact,  which  is  more  satisfactory. 
A  short  while  before  they  seized  hold  of  him,  he  waa 
looking  over  the  side,  and  saw  a  strangely-shaped  hill, 
a  mountain.  He  describes  it  as  having  two  tops.  The 
moon  was  between  them,  the  reason  for  his  taking 
notice  of  it.  That  double-headed  hill  may  yet  stand 
us  in  stead." 

*' How  unfortunate  the  skipper  losing  his  senses! 
If  he'd  kept  them,  he  could  have  told  us  where  he  was 
at  the  time  the  bark  was  abandoned.  His  getting  luny 
is  enough  to  make  one  think  the  very  Fates  are  against 
us.  B}T  the  way,  we've  never  thought  of  looking  at  the 
log-book.  That  ought  to  throw  some  light  on  the 
locality." 

"  It  ought,  and  doubtless  would  if  we  only  had  it. 
You're  mistaken  in  saj'ing  we  never  thought  of  it.  I 
did,  and  have  been  searching  for  it  all  along.  But  it's 
gone ;  and,  what's  become  of  it,  I  know  not.  They 
may  have  thrown  it  overboard  before  leaving  ;  though 
what  good  that  would  do  them,  I  can't  see.  The  cook 
says  it  used  to  lie  on  a  little  shelf  at  the  turning  ftf  the 
cabin-stair.  I've  looked  there  and  everywhere  else, 
but  no  log-book.  As  you  sa}T,  it's  enough  to  make 
one  believe  the  Fates  were  against  us.  If  so,  we  may 
never  reach  Panama,  much  less  live  to  "  — 

"  See  !  "  cries  Cadwallader,  interrupting  the  despair. 
;ng  speech.  "  Those  brutes !  What's  that  they're 
knocking  about?  B}T  Jove!  I  believe  it's  the  very 
thing  we're  speaking  of." 


A   SlORr   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  S77 

The  "  brutes"  are  the  Myas  monkeys,  that,  awav 
in  the  ship's  waist,  are  tossing  something  between 
them,  apparently  a  large  book  bound  in  rough  red 
leather.  They  have  mutilated  the  binding,  and,  with 
fceeth  and  claws,  are  tearing  out  the  leaves,  as  they 
strive  to  take  it  from  one  another. 

"  It  is,  it  must  be,  the  log-book,"  responds  Crozier, 
as  both  officers  rush  off  to  rescue  it  from  the  clutch  of 
the  orangs. 

They  succeed,  but  not  without  difficult}",  and  a  free 
handling  of  handspikes,  almost  braining  the  apes  before 
these  consent  to  relinquish  it. 

It  is  at  length  recovered,  though  in  a  ruinous  condi- 
tion, fortunately,  however,  with  the  written  leave? 
untorn.  Upon  the  last  of  these  is  an  entry,  evidently 
the  latest  made,  —  "  Lat.  7°  20'  N.  ;  Long.  82°  12'  W 
Light  breeze." 

"Good!"  exclaims  Crozier,  rushing  back  to  th( 
quarter-deck,  and  bending  over  the  chart.  "  Wit> 
this,  and  the  double-headed  hill,  we  may  get  upon  the 
track  of  the  despoilers.  Just  when  wre  were  despair- 
ing !  Will,  old  bo}T,  there's  something  in  this.  ) 
have  a  presentiment  that  things  are  taking  a  turn,  and 
the  Fates  will  }-et  be  for  us." 

"  God  grant  they  may  !  " 

"Ah!"  sighs  Crozier,  "if  we  had  but  ten  mep 
aboard  this  bark,  or  even  six,  I'd  never  think  of 
going  on  to  Panama,  but  steer  straight  for  the  Island 
of  Coiba.  As  the  chart  shows,  that's  the  land  they 
must  have  seen,  or  else  Hicaron,  which  lies  on  its? 
sou' -west  side.  With  a  light  breeze,  they  couldn't 
have  made  much  way  after  the  date  of  that  entry. 
Oh  for  ten  good  hands  !  A  thousand  pounds  apiece 
for  ten  tiusty  lads !  I  only  wish  in  that  squall  thfl 
cutter's  crew  had  been  left  along  with  us." 


378  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"Never  fear,  Ned;  we'll  get  them  again,  or  as 
good.  Old  Bracebridge  won't  fail  us,  I'm  sure.  Hc'i 
a  ilear  good  soul ;  and,  when  he  hears  the  tale  we've  to 
toll,  it'll  be  all  right.  .  If  he  can't  himself  come  along 
with  the  frigate,  he'll  allow  us  men  to  man  this  bark,-- 
enough  to  make  short  work  with  her  late  crew,  if  wo 
can  once  stand  face  to  face  with  them.  I  only  wish 
we  were  in  Panama." 

"  I'd  rather  we  were  off  Coiba,  or  on  shore  wherever 
the  ruffians  have  landed." 

"  Not  as  we  now  are  —  three  against  twelve  !  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  that.  I'd  give  ten  thousand 
pounds  to  be  in  their  midst,  even  alone." 

"  Ned,  3'ou'll  never  be  there  alone  :  wherever  you  go, 
I  go  with  you.  We  have  a  common  cause,  and  shall 
stand  or  fall  together." 

"  That  we  shall.  God  bless  3-011,  Will  Cadwallader ! 
I  feel  you're  worthy  of  the  friendship,  the  trust,  I've 
placed  in  3-011.  And  now  let's  talk  no  more  about  it, 
but  bend  on  all  the  sail  we  can,  and  get  to  Panama. 
After  that,  we'll  steer  for  the  Island  of  Coiba.  We're 
so  far  fortunate  in  having  this  westerly  wind,"  he  con- 
tinues in  more  cheerful  tones.  "  If  it  keep  in  the 
same  quarter  for  another  twentj'-four  hours,  we  ought 
to  sight  land ;  and,  if  this  Chilian  chart  ma}'  be  de- 
pended on,  that  should  be  the  promontoiy  on  the  west 
side  of  Panama  Ba3\  I  hope  the  chart  is  a  true  one  ; 
for  Punta  Malo,  as  its  name  imports,  isn't  a  nice  place 
to  make  mistakes  about.  If  we  should  run  too  close 
to  it,  with  this  west  wind  "  — 

"  Steamer  to  norrard !  "  cries  a  rough  vone,  inter- 
rupting him.     It  is  Grummet's. 

The  young  officers,  turning  with  a  start,  see  the 
same.     Crozier,  laying  hold  of  a  telescope,  raises  it  tc 


A   STORY   OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  379 

'us  e}e,  while  he  holds  it  there,  saying,  "  You're  right, 
■ockswain :  it  is  a  steamer,  and  standing  this  way. 
>he'll  run  across  our  bows.  Up  helm,  and  set  the 
bark's  head  on  her.     I  want  to  hail  that  vessel." 

Grummet  obeys,  and,  with  a  few  turns  of  the  wheel, 
bring?  the  "  Condor's"  head  round,  till  she  is  right  to 
meet  the  steamer.  The  officers,  with  the  negro  assist- 
ing, loose  tacks  and  sheets,  trimming  her  sails  for  the 
changed  course. 

Soon  the  two  vessels,  steered  from  almost  opposite 
directions,  lessen  the  distance  between ;  and,  as  they 
mutually  make  approach,  each  speculates  on  the  char- 
acter of  the  other.  They  on  board  the  bark  have  little 
difficulty  in  determining  that  of  the  steamer.  At  a 
glance,  they  see  she  is  not  a  war-ship,  but  a  passenger- 
packet  ;  and,  as  there  are  no  others  in  that  part  of 
the  Pacific,  she  can  be  only  one  of  the  "  liners  "  lately 
established  between  San  Francisco  and  Panama,  com- 
ing down  from  the  former  port,  her  destination  the  latter. 
Kot  so'  easy  for  those  aboard  the  steamship  to  make 
out  the  character  of  the  craft  that  has  turned  up  in 
their  track,  and  is  sailing  straight  towards  them. 
The}7  see  a  bark,  polacca-masted,  with  some  sails  set, 
and  others  hanging  in  shreds  from  her  yards.  This  of 
itself  would  be  enough  ':o  excite  curiosity ;  but  there 
is  something  besides,  —  a  flag  reversed  flying  at  her 
mainmast-head,  the  flag  of  Chili.  It  matters  not 
what  its  nationality.  Enough  that  the}'  know  it  to  be 
a  signal  of  distress. 

Responding  to  the  appeal,  the  commander  of  the 
steam-packet  orders  her  engines  to  slow,  and  then  to 
cease  action,  till  the  huge  leviathan,  late  running  at 
the  rate  of  twelve  knots  an  hour,  gradually  lessens 
sfeed,  and  at  length  lies  motionless  upor  the  water 


380  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

Simultaneous!}7  the  bark  is  "hove  to:"  her  sails 
cease  propelling  her,  and  she  lies  at  less  than  a  cable's 
length  from  the  steamer.  From  the  latter  the  hail  ia 
heard  first,  "  Bark  aho}' !     What  bark  is  that?  " 

44  The  4  Condor/  Valparaiso.     In  distress." 

"  Send  a  boat  aboard  !  " 

"  Not  strength  to  man  it." 

44  Wait,  then  !     We'll  board  you." 

In  less  than  five  minutes'  time,  one  of  the  quarter- 
boats  of  the  liner  is  lowered  down,  and  a  crew  leaps 
into  it.  Pushing  off  from  her  side,  it  soon  touches 
that  of  the  vessel  in  distress,  but  not  for  its  crew  to 
board  her.  Crozier  has  alreacty  traced  out  his  course 
of  action.  Slipping  down  into  the  steamer's  boat,  he 
makes  request  to  be  rowed  to  the  ship,  which  is  done 
without  questioning.  The  uniform  he  wears  entitles 
him  to  respect. 

Stepping  aboard  the  steamship,  he  sees  that  she  is 
what  he  has  taken  her  for,  a  line-packet  from  San 
Francisco,  bound  for  Panama.  She  is  crowded  with 
passengers  ;  at  least  a  thousand  showing  upon  her  decks. 
The}7  are  of  all  qualities  and  kinds,  all  colors  and 
nationalities ;  most  of  them  Californian  gold-diggers 
returning  to  their  homes,  —  some  successful  and  cheer- 
ful, others  downcast  and  disappointed. 

He  is  not  long  in  telling  his  tale,  —  first  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  steamer  and  his  officers,  then  to  the 
passengers ;  for  to  these  he  makes  appeal,  a  call  for 
volunteers,  not  alone  to  assist  in  navigating  the  bark, 
tut  to  proceed  with  him  in  pursuit  of  the  crew  that 
cast  her  away. 

He  makes  known  his  position,  with  his  power  to 
compensate  them  for  the  service  sought,  both  indorsed 
by  the  commander  of  the  steamship,  who,  in  h is  anxi- 


A  STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  381 

ety  to  assist,  is  ready  to  answer  for  his  credentials 
The}^  are  not  needed,  nor  }'et  the  promise  of  a  money 
reward.  Among  those  stalwart  men  are  many  who 
are  heroes,  true  Paladins,  despite  their  somewhat 
threadbare  habiliments ;  and  amidst  their  soiled  rags 
shine  pistols  and  knives  ready  to  be  drawn  for  the 
right. 

After  hearing  the  young  officer's  tale,  without  listen- 
ing further,  twenty  of  them  spring  forward  in  response 
to  his  appeal ;  not  for  the  reward  he  offers,  but  in  the 
cause  of  humanity  and  justice.  He  could  enlist  twice 
or  thrice  the  number ;  but,  deeming  twent}^  enough, 
with  these  he  returns  to  the  "  Condor." 

Then  the  two  vessels  part  company,  the  steamer 
continuing  on  for  Panama  ;  while  the  bark,  now  better 
manned,  and  with  more  sail  set,  is  steered  for  the 
point  where  the  line  of  lat.  7°  20'  N.  intersects  that 
of  Ions.  82°  12'  W. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

STARVATION     POINT. 

WHILE  these  scenes  are  passing  at  sea,  others  of 
equally  exciting  character  occur  upon  that 
desert  shore,  where,  by  a  sinister  chance  for  them- 
selves, if  not  for  their  captives,  the  pirate  crew  of  the 
"Condor"  made  landing.  They  are  still  upon  the 
isle,  all  their  efforts  to  get  off  having  proved  idle. 
But  how  different  are  the}T  from  that  hour  when  they 
brought  their  boat  upon  its  beach,  laden  with  the  spoils 


882  THE   FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

of  the  plundered  vessel !  Changed  not  only  in  thei; 
feelings,  but  looks,  scarce  recognizable  as  the  same  men 
Then  in  the  full  plenitude  of  swaggering  strength, 
mental  as  bodily,  with  tongues  given  to  loud  talk  ;  now 
subdued  and  silent,  stalking  about  like  specties,  with 
weak,  tottering  steps ;  some  sitting  listlessly  upon 
stones,  or  tying  astretch  along  the  earth  ;  not  resting, 
but  from  sheer  inability  to  stand  erect. 

Famine  has  made  its  mark  upon  their  faces.  Hunger 
can  be  read  in  their  hollow  eyes,  and  pale,  sunken 
cheeks ;  while  thirst  shows  upon  their  parched  and 
shrivelled  lips. 

Not  strange  all  this.  For  nine  days  the}'  have  tasted 
no  food,  save  shell-fish  and  the  rank  flesh  of  sea-fowl 
(both  in  short  supply) ,  and  no  drink,  excepting  some 
rain-water  caught  in  the  boat-sail  during  an  occasional 
slight  shower. 

All  the  while  have  they  kept  watch  with  an  earnest- 
ness such  as  their  desperate  circumstances  evoked.  A 
tarpauling  they  have  rigged  up  by  oar  and  boat-hook, 
set  upon  the  most  elevated  point  of  the  isle,  has  failed 
to  attract  the  eye  of  any  one  on  the  mainland,  or,  if 
seen,  the  signal  has  been  disregarded ;  while  to  sea- 
ward, no  ship  or  other  vessel  has  been  observed,  nought 
but  the  blank  blue  of  ocean  recalling  their  crime,  in  its 
calm  tranquillity  mocking  their  remorse. 

Repentant  are  the}'  now.  If  they  could,  willingly 
would  they  undo  their  wicked  deed,  joyfully  surrender 
the  stolen  gold,  gladly  give  up  their  captives,  be  but 
too  glad  to  restore  to  life  those  they  have  deprived  of 
:t. 

It  cannot  be.  Their  victims  left  aboard  the  bark 
must  have  long  ago  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  In 
its  bed  they  are  now  sleeping  their  last  sleep,  released 


A   STOP.Y   OF   THE   SOUTH    SEA.  383 

from  all  earthly  woes  ;  and  they  who  have  so  ruthlessly 
consigned  them  to  their  eternal  rest  now  almost  envy 
it.  In  their  hour  of  agon}-,  as  hunger  gnaws  at  theii 
entrails,  and  thirst  scorches  them  like  a  consuming  fire, 
they  care  little  for  life  ;  some  even  desiring  death. 

All  are  humbled  now.  Even  the  haughty  Gomez  no 
longer  affects  to  be  their  leader  ;  and  the  savage  Padilla 
is  tamed  to  silent  inaction,  if  not  tenderness.  By  a 
sort  of  tacit  consent,  Harry  Blew  has  become  the 
controlling  spirit,  perhaps  from  having  evinced  more 
humanity  than  the  rest.  Now  that  adversity  is  on 
them,  their  better  natures  are  brought  out,  and  the  less 
hardened  of  them  have  resumed  the  gentleness  of 
childhood's  da}Ts. 

The  change  has  been  of  singular  consequence  to 
their  captives.  These  are  no  longer  restrained,  but 
free  to  go  and  come  as  it  pleases  them.  No  more 
need  they  fear  insult  or  injury.  No  rudeness  is  offered 
them,  either  by  speech  or  gesture :  on  the  contrary, 
they  are  treated  with  studied  respect,  almost  with 
deference.  The  choicest  articles  of  food,  bad  at  best, 
are  apportioned  to  them,  as  also  the  largest  share  of 
the  water,  fortunately,  sufficient  of  both  to  keep  up 
their  strength ;  and  the}',  in  turn,  have  been  minis- 
tering angels,  tender  nurses  to  the  men  who  have  made 
all  their  miseiy. 

Thus  have  they  lived  up  till  the  night  of  the  ninth 
day  since  their  landing  on  the  isle  ;  then  a  heavy  rain- 
fall, filling  the  concavity  of  the  boat's  sail,  enables 
them  to  replenish  the  beaker,  with  other  vessels  they 
had  brought  ashore. 

On  the  morning  of  the  tenth,  they  are  relinquishing 
themselves  to  bitter  despair  and  have  called  to  the 
Dutchman,  who  has  been  posted  on  the  heights  above, 


384  THE   TLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

on  the  outlook  for  a  passing  sail,  to  come  down.  A 
last  solemn  council  of  ways  and  means  is  to-  be  held, 
and  all  hands  must  assist.  But  he  neither  obeys,  nor 
gives  back  response.  He  does  not  even  look  in  their 
direction.  They  can  see  him  by  the  signal-staff, 
standing  erect,  with  face  turned  towards  the  sea,  and 
one  hand  over  his  ej-es,  shading  them  from  the  sun. 
He  appears  to  be  regarding  some  object  in  the  offing. 

Presently  he  lowers  the  spread  palm,  and  raises  a 
telescope  with  which  he  is  provided. 

They  stand  watching  him,  speechless,  and  with  bated 
breath,  their  solemn  purpose  for  the  time  forgotten. 
In  the  gleaming  of  that  glass  they  have  a  fancy  there 
ma}7  be  life,  as  there  is  light. 

The  silence  continues  till  'tis  seen  going  down. 
Then  they  hear  words  which  send  the  blood  in  quick 
current  through  their  veins,  bringing  hope  back  into 
their  hearts,  "  Sail  in  sight !  " 


CHAPTER    LII. 

AN    AVENGING    NEMESIS. 

SAIL  in  sight !      Three   little  words,  but  full  of 
big  meaning,  oft  carrying  the  question  of  life  or 
death. 

To  the  ears  of  the  starving  crew,  sweet  as  music, 
despite  the  harsh  Teutonic  pronunciation  of  him  who 
gave  them  utterance. 

At  the  shout  from  above,  all  have  faced  towards  the 
sea,  and  stand  scanning  its   surface,  but  with   gaze 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  385 

unrewarded.  The  white  flecks  seen  afar  are  only  the 
wings  of  gulls. 

"Where  away?"  shouts  one,  interrogating  him  on 
the  hill. 

"  Sou'-westert." 

South-westward  they  cannot  see.  In  this  direction 
their  view  is  bounded ;  a  projection  of  the  cliff  inter- 
posing between  them  and  the  outside  shore.  All  who 
are  able  start  off  towards  its  summit.  The  stronger 
ones  rush  up  the  gorge  as  if  their  lives  depended  on 
speed.  The  weaker  go  toiling  after.  One  or  two, 
weaker  still,  stay  below  to  wait  the  report  that  will 
soon  reach  them. 

The  first  up,  on  clearing  the  scarp,  have  their  eyes 
upon  the  Dutchman.  His  behavior  might  cause  them 
surprise,  if  they  could  not  account  for  it.  The  signal- 
staff  is  upon  the  higher  of  the  two  peaks,  some  two 
nundred  yards  beyond.  He  is  beside  it,  and  apparent- 
ly beside  himself .  Dancing  over  the  ground,  he  makes 
grotesque  gesticulations,  tossing  his  arms  about,  and 
waving  his  hat  overhead,  all  the  while  shouting  as  if 
to  some  ship  cose  at  hand,  repeating  the  hail,  u  Ahoy, 
ahoy!" 

Looking,  they  can  see  no  ship,  nor  craft  of  any  kind. 
For  a  moment  they  think  him  mad,  and  fear,  after  all, 
it  may  be  a  mistake.  Certainly  there  is  no  vessel 
near  enough  to  be  hailed. 

But,  sending  their  eyes  farther  out,  their  fear  gives 
place  to  jo}~  almost  delirious.  There  is  a  sail  *,  and 
though  long  leagues  off,  little  more  than  a  speck,  their 
practised  e}'es  tell  them  she  is  steering  that  wajT,  run- 
ning coastwise.  Keeping  her  course,  she  must  come 
past  the  isle,  within  sight  of  their  signal,  so  long 
spread   tc    no   purpose.      "Without   staying   to   reflect 

33 


386  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

further,  they  strain  on  towards  the  summit  wheie  the 
staff  is  erected. 

Harry  Blew  is  the  first  to  reach  it,  and,  clutching 
the  telescope,  jerks  it  from  the  hands  of  the  half- 
craved  Dutchman.  Raising  it  to  his  eye,  he  bends  it 
on  the  distant  sail,  there  keeping  it  more  than  a  minute. 
The  others  have  meanwhile  come  up,  and,  clustering 
around,  impatiently  question  him. 

"  What  is  she?     How's  she  standing?  " 

"A  bit  o'  a  bark,"  responds  Blew,  "and,  from 
what  I  can  make  out,  close  huggin'  the  shore.  I'll 
be  better  able  to  tell  when  she  draws  out  from  that 
clump  o'  cloud." 

Gomez,  standing  by,  appears  eager  to  get  hold  of 
the  glass ;  but  Blew  seems  reluctant  to  give  it  up. 
Still  holding  it  at  his  e}Te,  he  says,  "  See  to  that  sig- 
nal, mates  !  Spread  the  tarpaulin'  to  its  full  stretch. 
Face  it  square,  so's  to  give  'em  every  chance  o'  sight- 
in'  it." 

Striker  and  Dav\s  spring  to  the  piece  of  tarred  can- 
vas, and  grasping  it,  one  at  each  corner,  draw  out  the 
creases,  and  hold  as  directed. 

All  the  while  Blew  stands  with  the  telescope  levelled, 
loath  to  relinquish  it  But  Gomez,  grown  importunate, 
insists  on  having  his  turn  ;  and  it  is  at  length  surren- 
dered, to  him. 

Blew,  stepping  aside,  seems  excited  with  some 
emotion  he  tries  to  conceal.  Strong  it  must  be,  judg- 
ing from  its  effects  on  the  ex-man-o'-war's-man.  On 
his  face  there  is  an  expression  difficult  to  describe,  — 
surprise  amounting  to  amazement,  joy  subdued  by  anx- 
iety. Soon  as  giving  up  the  glass,  he  pullfl  off  his 
pilot-coat ;  then  divesting  himself  of  his  shirt,  a  scarlet 
Hannel,  he  suspends  t  from  the  outer  end  of  the  cross- 


A   S20BY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  387 

piece  which  supports  the  tarpauling,  as  he  does  so,  say- 
ing to  Striker  and  Davis,  "That's  a  signal  no  ship 
ought  to  disregard,  and  won't  if  manned  b}r  Christian 
men.  She  won't,  if  she  sees  it.  You  two  stay  here, 
and  keep  the  things  well  spread.  I'm  going  below  to 
say  a  word  to  them  poor  creeturs.  Stand  by  the  staff, 
and  don't  let  an}'  o'  them  haul  down  the  signal." 

"Ay,  ay!"  answers  Striker,  without  comprehend- 
ing, and  somewhat  wondering  at  Blew's  words  —  under 
the  circumstances  strange.  "All  right,  mate.  Ye 
may  depend  on  me  an'  Bill." 

"  I  know  it,  I  do,"  rejoins  the  ex-man-o'-war's-man, 
again  drawing  the  dreadnought  over  his  shirtless  skin. 
"  Both  o'  you  be  true  to  me,  and,  'fore  long,  I  may  be 
able  to  show  I  an't  ungrateful." 

Saying  this,  he  separates  from  the  Sydney  Ducks, 
and  hurries  down  towards  the  gorge. 

Both,  as  they  stand  by  the  signal-staff,  now  more 
than  ever  wonder  at  what  he  has  said,  and  interrogate 
one  another  as  to  his  meaning. 

In  the  midst  of  their  mutual  questioning,  they  are  at- 
tracted by  a  cry  strangely  intoned.  It  is  from  Gomez, 
who  has  brought  down  the  telescope,  and  holds  it  in 
hands  that  shake  as  with  pals}'. 

"What  is  it?"  asks  Padilla,  stepping  up  to  him. 

"  Take  the  glass,  Rafael  Rocas.    See  for  }Tourself !  " 

The  old  contrabandista  does  as  directed.  He  is 
silent  for  some  seconds,  while  getting  the  telescope  on 
the  strange  vessel.  Soon  as  he  has  her  within  the  field 
of  view,  he  commences  making  remarks,  overheard  3y 
Striker  and  Davis,  giving  both  a  surprise,  though  .lie 
latter  least. 

"  Bark  she  is  —  polacca-masts.  Queer !  About  the 
same  bulk  too!     If  it  wasn't  that  we're  sure  of  the 


388  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

1  Condor '  being  below,  I'd  be  willing  to  swear  it  waa 
she.  Of  course,  it  can  be  only  a  coincidence.  A 
strange  one,  though." 

Velarde,  in  turn,  takes  the  telescope ;  he,  too,  after 
a  sight  through  it,  expressing  himself  in  a  similar 
manner.  Hernandez  next ;  for  the  four  Spaniard* 
have  all  ascended  to  the  hill. 

But  Striker  does  not  wait  to  hear  what  Hernandez 
may  have  to  say.  Dropping  the  tarpauling,  he  strides 
up  to  him,  and,  scljis  ceremonie,  takes  the  telescope 
from  his  fingers ;  then  bringing  it  to  his  eye,  sights 
for  himself. 

Less  than  twenty  seconds  suffice  for  him  to  deter- 
mine the  character  of  the  vessel.  Within  that  time, 
his  glance  taking  in  her  hull,  traversing  along  the  line 
of  her  bulwarks,  and  then  ascending  to  the  tops  of  her 
tall,  smooth  masts,  he  recognizes  all  as  things  with 
which  he  is  well  acquainted. 

He,  too,  almost  lets  drop  the  telescope,  as,  turning 
to  the  others,  he  says  in  a  scared  but  firm  voice,  the 
"«  Condor !'" 

u «  Condor  ! '  Impossible  !  "  cry  the  four  Spaniards, 
speaking  together. 

"  It  is,  for  all  that !  "  rejoins  Striker.  "  How  so  I 
don't  understan'  any  more  than  yourselves.  But  that 
vonder  craft  be  the  Chili  bark  —  or  her  spectre — I'll 
take  my  solemn  affydavy." 

Striker's  speech  calls  up  strange  thoughts,  that  take 
possession  of  the  minds  of  those  listening  to  it.  How 
could  it  be  the  "  Condor,"  long  since  scuttled,  sent  to 
the  bottom  of  the  sea?  Impossible !  The  sail  seen 
must  be  a  spectre. 

In  their  weak  state,  with  nerves  unnaturally  excited, 
they  almost  believe  this,  one  and  all  impressed  with 


A  STORY   OF  THE   SOUTH  SEA. 

wild,  weird  fancies,  that  strike  terror   to  their  guilt} 
60uls. 

Something  more  than  mortal  is  pursuing  to  punish 
them.     It  is  the  hand  of  vengeance.     For  days  thev 
have  been  thinking  so ;    and  now  they  see   it  stretch 
ing  farther,  and  coming  nearer.    Clearly  a  Fate,  a«* 
avenging  Nemesis ! 

"  It's  the  bark,  beyond  a  doubt,"  continues  Striker, 
with  the  glass  again  at  his  eye.  "  Every  thin'  the 
same,  'oeptin'  her  sails,  the  which  show  patched  like. 
That  be  no  thin'.  It's  the  Chili  craft,  and  no  other. 
Her  sure's  we  stan'  heer  !  " 

"  Stay!  "  exclaims  Gomez.  "  Where  are  they  who 
took  charge  of  the  scuttling?  Can  they  have  blun- 
dered in  their  work?  " 

Remembering  the  men,  all  turn  round,  looking  for 
them.  They  are  not  among  the  group  gathered  around 
the  staff.  Blew  has  long  ago  gone  down  the  gorge  , 
and  Davis  is  just  disappearing  into  it.  They  shout  tc 
him  to  come  back.  He  hears,  but,  not  heeding, 
continues  on,  and  is  soon  out  of  sight.  It  matters  not 
questioning  him,  and  they  give  up  thought  of  it.  The 
thing  out  at  sea  engrosses  all  their  attention. 

Now  nearer,  the  telescope  is  no  longer  needed  to  tel) 
that  it  is  a  bark,  polacca-masted,  in  size,  shape  of 
hull,  sit  in  the  water,  every  thing,  the  same  as  with 
the  "  Condor ;  "  and  the  bit  of  bunting,  —  red,  white, 
blue,  —  the  Chilian  ensign,  the  flag  carried  by  the  bark 
they  abandoned.  They  remember  a  blurred  point  in 
the  central  star :  'tis  there  ! 

Spectre  or  not,  she  is  standing  towards  them, 
straight  towards  them,  coming  on  at  a  rate  of  speed 
that  soon  brings  her  abreast  the  islet.  She  has  seen 
their  signal,  no  doubt  of  that :    if  there  were,  it  is 


390  THE  FLAG    OF  DISTRESS. 

before  long  set  at  rest ;  for,  while  they  are  watcning 
her,  she  draws  opposite  the  opening  in  tl  e  reef,  then 
lets  sheet?  loose,  and,  squaring  her  after-yards,  is 
Instantly  hove  to. 

Down  drops  a  boat  from  the  davits  :  as  it  strikes  the 
water,  men  seem  swarming  over  the  side  into  it.  Then 
the  plash  of  oars,  their  wet  blades  glinting  in  the  sun, 
as  the  boat  is  rowed  through  the  reef-passage.  Im* 
pelled  by  strong  arms,  it  soon  crosses  the  stretch  of 
calm  water,  and  shoots  up  into  the  cove.  Beaching  it, 
the  crew  spring  out  on  the  pebbly  strand,  some  not 
waiting  till  it  is  drawn  up,  but  dashing  breast-deep  into 
the  surf.  There  are  nearly  twenty,  all  stalwart  fellows, 
with  big  beards  ;  some  in  sailor  garb,  but  most  red- 
shirted,  belted,  bristling  with  bowie-knives  and  pistols, 
wearing  tall  boots,  with  trousers  tucked  in  at  their  tops, 
—  the  costume  of  the  California  gold-digger. 

Two  are  different  from  the  rest,  in  the  uniform  of 
naval  officers,  with  caps  gold-banded.  These,  though 
the  youngest,  seem  to  command,  being  the  first  to  leap 
out  of  the  boat,  soon  as  on  shore,  drawing  their  swords, 
and  advancing  at  the  head  of  the  others. 

All  this  observed  b}r  the  four  Spaniards,  who  are  still 
around  the  signal-staff,  like  it,  standing  fixed,  though 
not  a  together  motionless;  for  the}T  are  shale ng  with 
fear.  Their  thoughts,  hitherto  given  to  th  i  super- 
natural, are  not  less  so  now,  even  more,  hose  of 
Gomez  and  Hernandez,  Incomprehensible  to  them, 
She  "  Condor  "  being  afloat ;  but  to  behold  among  the 
men  who  have  just  come  out  of  her  two  the}'  well  know  ! 
For,  in  the  officers  leading,  De  Lara  and  Calderon 
recognize  their  detested  rivals  in  love,  —  the  same  who 
made  smash  of  their  month  bank. 

For  some  moments,  De  Lara  stands  in  sullen  silence, 


A   STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH  SEA.  391 

with  eyes  dilated.  He  has  watched  the  beaching  of  the 
boat,  and  the  landing  of  her  crew.  Recognizing  the 
officers,  he  clutches  Calderon  by  the  arm.  Now,  more 
vividly  than  ever,  is  their  crime  recalled ;  for  now  its 
punishment  is  near :  there  is  no  chan  '„e  to  escape  it. 
To  resist  will  only  be  to  hasten  their  doom,  —  sure  to 
be  death.  They  do  not  think  of  resistance,  nor  yet 
flight,  but  remain  upon  the  hilltop,  cowering  and 
speechless.  Calderon  is  the  first  to  break  silence,  fran- 
tically exclaiming,  * '  The  officers  of  the  English  frigate  ! 
Mystery  of  mj'steries  !     What  can  it  mean  ? 

"  No  mystery,"  rejoins  De  Lara,  addressing  himself 
to  the  other  three,  —  "  none  whatever.  I  see  it  all  now, 
clear  as  the  sun  at  noonday.  Blew  has  been  traitor  to 
us,  as  I  suspected  all  along.  He  and  Davis  have  not 
scuttled  the  bark,  but  left  her  to  go  drifting  about ; 
and  the  frigate  to  which  these  officers  belong  has  come 
across,  picked  her  up,  and,  lo  !  they  are  there." 

"  That's  it,  no  doubt,"  says  Velarde,  otherwise  Diaz. 
"  But  those  rough  fellows  with  them  don't  appear  to  be 
men-of-war' s-men,  nor  sailors  of  any  kind,  more  like 
gold-diggers,  the  same  as  crowd  the  streets  of  San 
Francisco.     They  must  have  come  thence." 

"It  matters  not  what  they  are  or  where  from: 
enough  that  they're  here,  and  we  in  their  power." 

At  this,  Diaz  and  Padilla,  now  known  as  Rafael 
Rocas,  step  towards  the  cliff's  edge,  to  have  a  look 
below,  leaving  the  other  two  by  the  staff. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  they'll  do  to  us?  "  asks  Cal- 
deron of  De  Lara.     "  Do  you  think  the}- '11  " — 

"  Shoot  or  hang  us?  "  interrupts  De  Lara  :  "  that's 
what  3Tou'd  say.  I  don't  think  any  thing  about  it. 
One  or  other  they'll  do,  to  a  certainty." 

"  Is  there  no  chance  of  escaping?  "  piteously  exclaims 
the  px-qanadero. 


392  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

•-None  whatever.  No  use  cur  trying  to  get  aw  115 
from  them.  There  s  nowhere  we  could  conceal  our« 
selves,  not  a  spot  to  give  us  shelter  for  a  single  hour.. 
For  my  part,  I  don't  intend  to  stir  from  here.  Yes,  I 
shall  go  down  to  them,  and  meet  death  like  aniari  —  no, 
like  a  tiger.  Before  djing,  I  shall  defend  myself.  Are 
you  good  to  do  the  same  ?     Are  you  game  for  it  ?  ' ' 

"I  don't  comprehend  you,"  answers  Calderon 
"  Who  would  you  fight  against?  " 

"  Whomsoever  I  can.     Two  for  certain." 

"Which  two?" 

"  Crozier  and  Carmen.  You  may  do  as  3-ou  please. 
I've  marked  out  my  pair,  and  mean  to  have  their  lives 
before  yielding  up  my  own,  —  hers,  if  I  can't  his.  She 
sha'n't  live  to  triumph  over  me." 

While  speaking,  the  desperado  has  taken  out  his 
revolver,  and,  holding  it  at  half-cock,  spins  the  cylinder 
round,  to  see  that  all  the  six  chambers  are  loaded,  with 
the  caps  on  the  nipples.  Sure  of  this,  he  returns  it  to 
its  holster,  and  then  glances  at  his  machete,  hanging 
on  his  left  hip.  All  this  with  a  cool  carefulness  which 
shows  him  determined  upon  his  hellish  purpose.  Cal- 
deron, quailing  at  the  thought  of  it,  endeavors  to  dis- 
suade him,  urging,  that,  after  all,  they  may  be  only 
made  prisoners,  and  leniently  dealt  with.  He  is  cut 
short  b}T  De  Lara  crying  out,  — 

"  You  may  stifle  in  a  prison,  if  it  so  please  3*011. 
After  what's  happened,  that's  not  the  destiny  foi  mc. 
I  prefer  death  and  vengeance." 

"  Better  life  and  vengeance,"  cries  Rocas,  coming 
up,  Diaz  along  with  him,  both  in  breathless  haste. 
"Quick,  comrades!"  he  continues.  "Follow  me1 
I'll  find  a  wajT  to  save  the  first,  and  maj'be  get  fhe  last, 
sooner  than  you  expected  " 


A   STORY    OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  398 

"  It's  no  use,  Rafael,"  argues  De  Lara,  misunder 
standing  the  speech  of  the  seal-hunter.     "Ifwe  attempt 
flight,  they'll  only  shoot  us  down  the  sooner.     Where 
could  we  flee  to?" 

"  Come  on  :  I'll  show  you  where.  Courage  !  Don't 
fetand  hesitating  :  every  second  counts  now.  If  we  can 
but  get  there  in  time  ' '  — 

"Get  where?" 

"To  the  boat." 

On  hearing  the  words,  De  Lara  utters  an  exclamation 
of  joy.  They  apprise  him  of  a  plan  which  may  not 
only  get  him  out  of  danger,  but  give  revenge  sweet 
as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  mortal  man. 

He  hesitates  no  longer,  but  hastens  after  the  seal- 
hunter,  who,  with  the  other  two,  has  already  started 
towards  the  brow  of  the  cliff.  But  not  to  stay  there  ; 
for,  in  a  few  seconds  after,  they  are  descending  it, 
not  through  the  gorge  by  which  they  came  up,  but 
another,  also  debouching  into  the  bay. 

Little  dream  the  English  officers,  or  the  brave  men 
who  have  landed  with  them,  of  the  peril  impending. 
If  the  scheme  cf  the  seal-hunter  succeed,  the'rs  will  be 
a  pitiful  fate  :  J  he  tables  will  be  turned  upon  them.  . 


894  THE   FLAG  OF  DISTBT2SS. 


CHAPTER    Lin. 

THE  TABLES  NEARLY  TURNED. 

AT  the  cliff's  base,  the  action,  simultaneous,  is  yet 
more  exciting.  Having  left  their  boat  behind, 
with  a  man  to  take  care  of  it,  the  rescuers  advance 
towards  the  inner  end  of  the  cove ;  at  first  with  cau- 
tion, till,  passing  the  rock-portal,  they  see  the  platform, 
and  those  on  it.  Then  the  young  officers  rush  forward, 
with  no  fear  of  having  to  light.  Instead  of  armed 
enemies  to  meet  them,  they  behold  the  dear  ones  from 
whom  they  have  been  so  long  separated  ;  beside  them. 
half  a  dozen  figures,  more  like  spectres  than  men, 
with  cowed,  craven  faces,  seeming  so  feeble  as  to  have 
a  difficulty  in  keeping  their  feet.  With  swords  sheathed, 
and  pistols  returned  to  their  holsters,  they  hasten  on, 
the  girls  rushing  out  to  receive  them.  Soon  they  are 
together,  two  and  two,  breasts  touching,  and  arms 
infolded  in  mutual  embrace.  For  a  while,  no  words,  — 
the  hearts  of  all  four  too  full  for  speech,  —  only  ejacu- 
lations and  kisses,  with  tears,  not  of  sorrow.  Soon 
follow  speeches,  necessarily  brief  and  half-incoherent ; 
Crozier  telling  Carmen  that  her  father  is  still  alive, 
and  aboard  the  bark.  He  lives,  he  is  safe :  that  is 
enough.  Then,  in  answer  to  his  questions,  a  word  or 
two  on  her  side ;  but,  without  waiting  to  hear  all,  he 
turns  abruptly  upon  Harry  Blew^,  who  is  seen  some 
paces  off.  Neither  by  word  nor  gesture  has  the  sailor 
saluted  him.  He  stands  passive,  a  silent  spectator, 
as  Crozier  supposes,  the  greatest  criminal  on  earth. 


A   STOEY    OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  395 

111  quick  retrospect  of  what  has  occurred,  and  what 
ae  has  heard  from  Don  Gregorio,  how  could  it  be 
otherwise?  But  he  will  not  condemn  without  hearing  ; 
and,  stepping  up  to  the  ex-man-o-war's-man,  he  demands 
explanation  of  .lis  conduct,  sternly  saying,  "Now, 
sir,  I  claim  an  account  from  you.  Tell  your  story 
straight,  and  don't  conceal  aught,  or  prevaricate.  If 
your  treason  be  as  black  as  I  believe  it,  you  deserve  no 
mere}'  from  me.  And  your  onty  chance  to  obtain  it 
will  be  b}T  telling  the  truth." 

While  speaking,  he  draws  his  sword,  and  stands 
confronting  the  sailor,  as  if  a  word  were  to  be  the 
signal  for  thrusting  him  through. 

Blew  is  himself  armed  with  both  pistol  and  knife ; 
but  instead  of  drawing,  or  making  any  show  of  de- 
fence, he  remains  cowed-like,  his  head  drooping  down 
to  his  breast.  He  gives  no  response.  His  lips  move 
not ;  neither  his  arms  nor  limbs.  Alone  his  broad 
chest  heaves  and  falls,  as  if  stirred  by  some  terrible 
emotion.     His  silence  seems  a  confession  of  guilt. 

Taking,  or  mistaking  it  for  this,  Crozier  cries  out, 
4 '  Traitor,  confess  before  I  run  this  blade  through 
your  miserable  body." 

The  threat  elicits  an  answer.  "  You  may  kill  me  if 
you  wish,  Master  Edward.  B}T  rights,  my  life  belongs 
to  ye.  But,  if  you  take  it,  I'll  ha\e  the  satisfaction  o' 
knowin'  I've  done  the  best  I  could  to  prove  my  grate- 
fulness for  3-our  once  savin'  it." 

Long  before  he  has  finished  his  strange  speech,  the 
impending  stroke  is  stayed,  and  the  raised  blade 
dropped  point  downward ;  for  on  the  hand  which 
grasps  it,  a  gentler  one  is  laid,  a  soft  voice  saying, 
"Hold,  Eduardo  !  What  would  you  do?  You  know 
not.  This  brave  man —  to  him  T  owe  ray  life,  —  I  and 
Inez." 


396  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

"Yes,"    adds   Inez,   advancing,  "more   than   life 
'Tis  he  who  protected  us." 

Crozier  stands  trembling,  the  sword  almost  shaken 
from  his  grasp.  While  sheathing  it,  he  is  told  how 
near  he  has  been  to  doing  that  which  would  ever  aftor 
have  made  him  miserable.  He  feels  like  one  withheld 
from  a  crime,  —  almost  parricide  ;  for  to  have  killed 
HaiT}  Blew  would  have  been  like  killing  his  own 
father. 

The  exciting  episode  is  almost  instantly  succeeded 
by  another,  still  more  stirring,  and.  longer  sustained. 
While  Carmen  is  proceeding  to  explain  her  interference 
on  behalf  of  Blew,  she  is  interrupted  by  cries  com- 
ing up  from  the  beach ;  not  meaningless  shouts,  but 
words  of  ominous  import:  "Ahoy,  there!  help, 
help!"  Coupled  with  them,  Crozier  hears  his  own 
name,  then  the  "  Help,  help !  "  reiterated,  recogniz- 
ing the  voice  of  the  man  left  in  charge  of  the  boat. 
Without  hesitating  an  instant,  he  springs  off  toward 
the  strand,  Cadwallader  and  the  gold-diggers  follow- 
ing ;  two  sta}Ting  to  keep  guard  over  those  of  the 
robbers  who  have  surrendered.  On  clearing  the  rock}' 
portal,  they  see  what  is  causing  the  boat-keeper  to  sing 
out  in  such  terrified  accents,  —  a  sight  which  sends  the 
scare  through  their  own  hearts,  with  cries  of  alarm 
from  their  lips.  He  in  the  boat  is  on  his  feet,  with  a 
^oat-hook  in  his  hands,  which  he  brandishes  in  a 
lisrcptening  manner,  shcuting  all  the  while.  Four 
men  are  making  towards  him  fast  as  their  legs  can 
carry  them.  They  are  coming  along  the  strand  from 
the  right  sidi  of  the  cove.  At  a  glance,  the  young 
officers  see  who  they  are  ;  at  least  two  of  them,  —  De 
Lara  and  Calderon,  —  sooner  from  their  not  meeting 
them  unexpectedly ;  for,  aware  that  these  am  on  the 


A   STORY  OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  39* 

isle,  they  were  about  to  go  in  quest  cf  them,  when 
summoned  by  the  cries.  No  need  to  search  for  them 
now.  There  the}'  are,  with  their  confederates,  ruslrng 
direct  for  the  boat,  already  within  pistol-shot  of  it. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  their  intent ;  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  it  sends  a  cold,  shivering  fear  through  the 
hearts  of  those  who  see  them,  all  suddenly  recognizing 
a  danger  seeming  as  death  itself.  They  remember 
having  left  only  two  or  three  men  on  the  bark. 
Should  the  pirates  succeed  in  boarding  her,  they  may 
cany  her  off  to  sea,  leaving  the  rescuers  on  the  isle, 
and  then  —  An  appalling  prospect,  they  have  no  time 
to  dwell  on,  nor  need  ;  for  it  comes  before  them  like  a 
flash  in  all  its  horrid  details.  Without  waiting  even  to 
exchange  word  with  one  another,  they  rush  on  to 
arrest  the  threatened  catastrophe,  bounding  over  the 
rocks,  crashing  through  shells  and  pebbles.  But  they 
are  behind  time ;  and  the  others  will  reach  the  boat 
before  them.  Crozier,  seeing  this,  shouts  to  the  man, 
"  Shove  off  into  deep  water  !  " 

The  sailor,  understanding  what  is  meant,  brings  the 
boat-hook  point  downward,  and,  with  a  desperate  effort, 
pushes  the  keel  clear,  sending  the  boat  adrift.  But, 
before  he  can  repeat  the  push,  pistols  are  fired ;  and, 
simultaneous  with  their  reports,  he  is  seen  to' sink 
down,  and  lie  doubled  over  the  thwarts.  A  yell  of 
vengeance  peals  from  the  pursuing  party ;  and,  mad- 
dened, they  rush  on.  The}7  will  be  too  late.  Already 
the  pirates  have  reached  the  boat,  now  undefended  ; 
and  all  four  together,  swarming  over  the  gunwale,  drop 
down  upon  the  thwarts,  each  laying  hold  of  an  oar, 
and  shipping  it.  In  agony,  Crozier  cries  out,  "  Oh, 
they  cannot  surely  get  away  —  those  guilty  wretches  !  " 
But  it  would  seem  so.     The}7  have  dropped  their  oar* 

84 


398  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

blades  in  the  water,  and  commerced  pulling,  whilo 
they  are  beyond  pistol-range.  Hj.  !  something  stays 
them !  An  avenging  Power  stag's  them.  Their  anus 
rise  and  fall ;  but  the  boat  moves  not.  Her  keel  is  on 
a  coral  bottom ;  her  bilge  caught  upon  its  rough  pro- 
jections. Their  own  weight,  pressing  down,  holds  her 
fast,  and  their  oar-strokes  are  icily  spent. 

They  had  not  thought  of  being  thus  stayed,  which 
proves  the  turning-point  of  their  fate.  No  use  their 
leaping  out  now  to  lighten  the  boat ;  no  time  for  that, 
nor  any  chance  to  escape.  But  two  alternatives  stare 
them  in  the  face,  —  resistance,  which  means  death,  and 
surrender,  that  seems  the  same.  De  Lara  would  resist 
and  die  ;  so,  also,  Rocas.  But  the  other  two  are  against 
it,  instinctively  holding  on  to  whatever  hope  of  life  may 
be  left  them. 

The  craven  Calderon  cuts  short  the  uncertainty  by 
rising  erect,  stretching  forth  his  arms,  and  crying  out 
in  a  piteous  appeal  for  mere}'.  In  an  instant  after, 
they  are  surrounded,  the  boat  grasped  by  the  gunwale, 
and  dragged  back  to  the  shore.  Crozier  with  difficulty 
restrains  the  angry  gold-diggers  from  shooting  them 
down  on  the  thwarts.  Well  for  them  the  boat-keeper 
was  not  killed,  but  011I3'  wounded,  and  in  no  danger  of 
losing  his  life.  Were  it  otherwise,  theirs  would  be 
token  on  the  spot.  Assured  of  his  safet3r,  his  rescuers 
pull  the  four  wretches  out  of  the  boat ;  then,  disarming, 
drag  them  up  to  the  platform,  and  bestow  them  in  the 
larger  cave,  for  a  time  to  be  their  prison,  though  not 
for  long.  There  is  a  judge  present,  accustomed  to  sit 
upon  short  trials,  and  pass  quick  sentences,  soon  fol- 
lowed by  execution.  It  is  the  celebrated  Justice 
Lynch. 

Represented   by   a   stalwart   digger,  all   the   others 


A   STORY   OF   THE    SOUTH   SEA.  399 

acting  as  jury,  the  trial  is  speedily  brought  to  a  ter- 
mination. For  the  four  of  Spanish  nationality,  the 
verdict  is  guilty ;  the  sentence,  death  on  the  scaffold. 
The  others,  less  criminal,  to  be  carried  on  to  Panama, 
and  there  delivered  over,  to  the  Chilian  consul ;  the 
crime  being  mutiny,  with  robbeiy,  and  abandonment 
of  a  Chilian  vessel.  An  exception  is  made  in  the  case 
of  Striker  and  Davis.  The  Sydney  Ducks  receive  condi- 
tional pardon,  on  promise  of  better  behavior  throughout 
all  future  time.  This  they  obtain  b}-  the  intercession 
of  Harry  Blew,  in  accordance  with  the  hint  he  gave 
them  while  they  stood  beside  the  spread  tarpauli ng. 
Of  the  four  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  one  meets  his 
fate  in  a  different  manner.  The  gold-dust  has  been 
recovered,  packed,  and  put  into  the  boat.  The  ladies 
are  cloaked,  and  impatient  to  be  taken  back  to  the 
bark,  yearning  to  embrace  him  they  so  long  believed 
dead.  The  3'oung  officers  stand  beside  them;  all 
awaiting  the  last  scene  of  the  tragedy,  —  the  execu- 
tion of  the  condemned  criminals.  The  stage  has  been 
set  for  it,  this  the  level  plot  of  ground  in  front  of  the 
cavern's  mouth.  A  rope  hangs  down  with  a  runniug- 
noose  at  one  end  ;  the  other,  in  default  of  gallows'  arm 
and  branch  of  tree,  rigged  over  the  point  of  a  project- 
ing rock.  All  this  arranged,  De  Lara  is  led  out  first, 
a  digger  on  each  side  of  him.  He  is  not  tied,  nor  con- 
fined in  an}'  way.  They  have  no  fear  of  his  making 
rscape  Nor  has  he  any  thought  of  attempting  it; 
though  he  thinks  of  something  else  as  desperate,  and 
more  deadl}'.  He  will  not  die  like  a  scared  dog,  but 
as  a  fierce  tiger ;  to  the  last  thirsting  for  blood,  to  the 
end  trying  to  destro}*,  —  to  kill.  The  oath  sworn  to 
Calderon  on  the  cliff  he  is  still  determined  on  keeping. 
As  they  conduct  him  out  of  the  cave,  his  eyes,  glaring 


100  THE   FLAG   OF   DISTRESS. 

with  lurid  light,  go  searching  every  where,  till  they  rest 
upon  a  group  some  twenty  paces  distant.  It  is  com- 
posed of  four  persons,  Crozier  and  Carmen  Montijo, 
Cadwallader  and  Inez  Alvarez,  standing  two  and  two. 
At  the  last  pair  De  Lara  looks  not,  the  first  enchaining 
his  attention.  Only  one  short  glance  he  gives  them  ; 
another  to  a  pistol  which  hangs  bolstered  on  the  hip  of 
a  gold-digger  guarding  him.  A  spring,  and  he  has 
possession  of  it ;  a  bound,  and  he  is  off  from  between 
the  two  men,  rushing  on  towards  the  group  standing 
apart. 

Fortunately  for  Edward  Crozier,  for  Carmen  Mon- 
tijo as  well,  there  are  cries  of  alarm,  shouts  of  warning, 
that  reach  him  in  time.  He  turns  on  hearing  them, 
sees  the  approaching  danger,  and  takes  measures  to 
avert  it.  Simple  enough  these,  —  but  the  drawing  of 
his  revolver,  and  firing  at  the  man  who  advances. 

Two  shots  are  heard,  one  on  each  side,  almost  simul- 
taneous, but  enough  apart  to  decide  which  of  the  two 
who  fired  must  fail.  Crozicr's  pistol  has  cracked  first ; 
and,  as  the  smoke  of  both  swirls  up,  the  gambler  is 
seen  astretch  upon  the  sward,  blood  spurting  from  his 
breast,  and  spreading  over  his  shirt-bosom. 

Harry  Blew,  rushing  forward,  and  bending  over  him, 
cries  out,  "Dead!  Shot  through  the  heart,  —  brave 
heart  too  !     What  a  pit}T  'twar  so  black  !  " 

"  Coine  away,  mia"  says  Crozier  to  Carmen. 
"  Your  father  will  be  suffering  from  anxiet}\  You've 
had  enough  of  the  horrible.  Let  us  hope  this  will  be 
the  end  of  it." 

Taking  his  betrothed  b}'  the  hand,  hf  leads  hei 
donm  to  the  boat,  Cadwallader  with  Inez  accompany 
ing  them. 

All  seat  themselves  in  the  stern-sheets,  and  wait  fo» 


A   STORY   OF    THE   SOUTH   SEA.  401 

fche  diggers,  who  soon  after  appear,  conducting  tbeir 
prisoners,  —  the  pirate  crew  of  the  "  Condor,  —  short 
four  left  behind,  a  banquet  for  the  vultures  and  sea- 
birds. 


CHAPTER     LIV. 
a  sailor's   true  yarn. 

IT  is  the  second  day  after  the  tragic  scene  upon  the 
isle ;  and  the  Chilian  bark  has  sailed  away  from 
the  Veraguan  coast,  out  of  that  indentation  known  upon 
modern  maps  as  Montijo  Bay.  She  has  long  since 
rounded  Cabo  Mala,  and  is  standing  in  for  the  port  of 
Panama.  With  a  full  crew,  —  most  of  them  old  and  able 
seamen,  —  no  fear  but  she  will  reach  it  now.  Crozier, 
in  command,  has  restored  Harry  Blew  to  his  situation 
of  first  officer,  which,  so  far  from  having  forfeited,  he 
is  deemed  to  doubly  deserve.  But  still  weak  from  his 
long  privation,  the  ex-man-o' -war's  man  is  excused 
from  dut}',  Cadwallader  doing  it  for  him.  Harry 
is  strong  enough,  however,  to  tell  the  3'oung  officers 
what  they  are  all  ears  to  hear,  —  the  stor}T  of  that  Flag 
of  Distress.  Their  time  hitherto  takeu  up  attending 
upon  their  fiancees,  they  have  deferred  calling  for  the 
full  account,  which  only  the  English  sailor  can  give 
them.  Now  having  passed  Cabo  Mala,  as  if,  with  the 
"  wicked  cape,"  all  evil  were  left  behind,  they  are  in 
the  mood  to  listen  to  the  strange  narration  in  all  its 
details,  and  summon  the  chief  officer  to  their  side. 

"  Your    honors!"    he   begins,    "it's   a  twisted-up 
yarn,  from  the  start  to  tbe  hour  ye  hove  in  sight;  an' 

34* 


402  THE   FLAG    OF   DISTRESS. 

if  3  e  hadn't  showed  yerselves  just  in  the  nick  o'  time, 
an'  ta'en  the  twist  out  o'  it,  hard  to  say  how  'twould 
'a  ended.  No  doubt,  in  all  o'  us  dyin'  on  that  desert 
island,  an'  layin'  our  bones  there.  Thank  the  Lord 
for  our  delivery —  without  any  disparagement  to  what's 
been  done  by  both  o'  you,  3"oung  gentlemen.  For 
that  he  must  ha'  sent  you,  an'  has  had  a  guidin'  hand 
throughout  the  whole  thing,  I  can't  help  thinkin'  when 
I  look  back  on  the  scores  o'  chances  that  seemed  goin' 
against  the  right,  an'  still  sheered  round  to  it,  after 
all." 

"  True,"  assents  Crozier,  honoring  the  devout  faith 
of  the  sailor.  "  You're  quite  right  in  ascribing  it  to 
divine  interference.  Certainly,  God's  hand  seems  to 
have  been  extended  in  our  favor.     But  go  on." 

"  Well,  to  commence  at  the  beginnin',  which  is  when 
you  left  me  in  San  Francisco.  As  I  told  Master  Wil- 
lie that  da}' he  come  ashore  in  the  dingy,  I  war  engaged 
to  go  chief  mate  in  the  Chili  bark.  She  war  then  a 
ship;  afterward  converted  into  a  bark,  as  ye  see, 
through  our  shortness  o'  hands.  When  I  went  aboard 
her,  an'  for  scv'ral  days  after,  I  war  the  only  thing  in 
the  shape  o'  sailor  she'd  got.  Then  her  captain  —  that 
poor  crazed  creetur  below — put  advertisements  in  the 
papers,  offering  big  pay  ;  the  which,  as  I  then  supposed, 
brought  eleven  chaps,  callin'  themselves  sailors,  an' 
shippin'  as  such.  One  o'  'em,  for  want  o'  a  better, 
wai  made  secon  1  mate ;  his  name  bein'  entered  on 
the  books  as  Fadilla.  lie  war  the  last  o'  the  three 
swung  up  ;  an',  if  ever  man  desarved  hangin',  he  did, 
bein'  the  cruellest  scoundrel  o'  the  lot.  After  we'd 
waited  another  da}*  or  two,  an'  no  more  makin'  appear 
ance,  the  skipper  made  up  his  mind  to  sail.  Then  the 
old  gentleman,  along  wi'  the  two  saynoreetas,   came 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH  SEA.  403 

aboard,  when  we  cleared,  an'  stood  out  to  sea.  Afore 
leavin'  port,  I  had  a  suspishun  about  the  sort  o'  crew 
we'd  shipped.  Soon's  we  war  fairly  afloat,  it  got  to 
be  sornethin'  worse  than  suspishun  :  I  war  sartin  then 
we'd  an  ugly  lot  to  deal  with.  Still  I  only  believed 
them  to  be  bad  men,  an',  if  that  war  possible,  worse 
seamen.  I  expected  trouble  wi'  them  in  sailin'  the 
vessel,  an'  a  likelihood  o'  them  bein'  disobedient. 
But,  on  the  second  night  after  leavin'  land,  I  found  out 
somethin'  o'  a  still  darker  stripe,  —  that  they  war  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  gang  o'  piratical  conspirators,  an' 
had  a  plan  arready  laid  out.  A  lucky  chance  led  to  me 
discoverin'  their  infarnal  design.  The  two  we  ve  agreed 
to  let  go  —  Striker  an'  Bill  Davis,  both  old  birds  from 
the  convict  gangs  o'  Australia  —  war  talkin'  it  over 
atween  themselves ;  an'  I  chanced  to  overhear  them. 
What  they  saved  made  every  thin'  clear —  as  it  did  my 
hair  to  stand  on  eend.  'Twar  a  scheme  to  plunder  the 
ship  o'  the  gold-dust  Don  Gregorio  hed  got  in  her,  an' 
carry  off  3'our  young  ladies.  Same  time,  they  war 
to  scuttle  the  vessel,  an'  sink  her,  first  knockin'  the 
old  gentleman  on  the  head,  or  drownding  of  him,  as 
well  as  the  skipper.  Your  humble  sarvint  an'  the 
dark}'  war  to  be  disposed  o'  same  sweet  fashion.  On 
listenin'  to  the  dyabolikal  plot,  I  war  clear  dumfound- 
ered,  an'  for  a  while  didn't  know  what  to  do.  'Twar  a 
case  o'  life  an'  death  to  some  o'  us,  an',  for  the  sa}T- 
noreetas,  somethin'  worse.  At  first,  I  thort  o'  tellin' 
Capt.  Lantanas  an'  also  Don  Gregorio.  But  then  I 
seed,  if  I  shud,  that  'twould  only  make  death  surer  to 
all  as  were  doomed.  I  knowed  the  skipper  to  be  a 
man  o'  innocent,  unsuspishus  nature,  an'  mightn't  gie 
belief  to  such  'trocious  rascality  as  bein'  a  thing  possi- 
ble.    More  like  he'd  let  out  right  avai ,  an'  bring  on 


±04  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

the  bloody  bizness  sooner  than  the}r  intends  d  it.  From 
what  Striker  an'  Davis  said,  I  made  out  that  it  war  to 
be  kept  back  till  we  should  sight  land  near  Panama. 
After  a  big  spell  o'  thinkin' ,  I  seed  a  sort  o'  way  out 
of  it,  — the  only  one  appearin'  possible.  'Twar  this 
to  purtend  joinin'  in  wi'  the  conspirators,  an'  put  my- 
self at  thar  head.  I'd  larnt  from  the  talk  o'  the  twc 
S3'dne3*  Ducks,  there  war  a  split  'niong  them,  'bout  the 
dividin'  o'  the  gold-dust.  I  seed  this  would  gie  me  a 
chance  to  go  in  along  wi'  them.  Takin'  advantage  o' 
it,  I  broached  the  bizness  to  Striker  that  same  night, 
an'  got  into  thar  councils,  arterwards  obtainin'  the 
influence  I  wanted.  Mind  3-e,  gentlemen,  it  took  a 
smart  show  o'  trickery  an'  manoauvrin'.  Among  other 
things,  I  had  to  appear  cool  to  the  cabin  people 
throughout  all  the  voyage,  specially  them  two  sweet 
creeturs.  Many's  the  time  1113'  heart  ached  a-thinkin' 
o'  3'ourself,  sir,  as  also  o'  Master  Willie,  an'  then  o' 
jTour  sweethearts,  an'  what  might  happen,  if  I  shed  fail 
in  ni3T  plan  for  protectin'  'em.  When  the3r  wanted  to 
be  free  an'  friendly,  an'  once  began  talkin'  to  me,  I 
bed  to  answer  'em  gruff  an'  growlin'  like,  knowin'  that 
e3'es  war  on  me  all  the  while,  an'  ears  a-listenin'.  As 
to  tellin'  them  what  was  before,  or  givin'  them  the 
slimmest  hint  o'  it,  that  would  'a  spoilt  m3r  plans. 
They'd  'a  gone  straight  to  the  old  gentleman,  an'  then 
it  would  'a  been  all  up  wi'  us.  'Twar  clear  to  me  they 
all  couldn't  then  be  saved,  an'  that  Don  Gregorio  him- 
self would  hev  to  be  sacrificed,  as  well  as  the  skippei 
an'  cook.  I  thought  that  dreadful  hard  ;  but  thar  war 
no  help  ibr't,  as  I'd  have  enough  on  my  hands  in  taidn' 
care  o'  the  women,  without  thinkin'  o:  the  men.  As 
the  Lord  has  allowed,  an'  thank  him  for  it,  ail  have 
been  saved !  " 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  405 

The  speaker  pauses  in  the  fervor  of  his  gratitude, 
which  his  listeners  respecting,  in  silence  wait  for  him 
to  continue.  He  does  so,  saying,  "  At  last,  on  sight- 
in'  land,  as  agreed  on,  the  day  had  come  for  the  doin' 
o'  their  dark  deed.  It  war  after  night  when  the}'  set 
about  it,  myself  actin'  as  a  sort  o'  recognized  leader. 
I'd  played  my  part  so's  to  get  control  o'  the  rest.  We 
first  lowered  a  boat,  put-tin'  our  things  into  her.  Then 
we  separated,  some  to  get  out  the  gold-dust,  others  to 
seize  the  saynoreetas.  I  let  Gomez  look  after  them, 
for  fear  of  bringin'  on  trouble  too  soon.  Me  an'  Da- 
vis—  who  chances  to  be  a  sort  o'  ship's  carpenter  — 
were  to  do  the  scuttlin',  an'  for  that  purpose  went 
down  into  the  hold.  There  I  proposed  to  him  to  give 
the  doomed  ones  a  chance  for  their  lives  by  lettin'  the 
1  Condor  '  float  a  bit  longer.  Though  he  be  a  convict, 
he  warn't  nigh  so  bad  as  the  rest.  He  consented  to  my 
proposal,  an'  we  returned  on  deck  'ithout  tappin'  the 
bark's  bottom  timbers.  Soon's  I  had  my  head  over 
the  hatch-coamin',  I  seed  them  all  below  in  the  boat, 
the  girls  along  wi'  them.  I  didn't  know  what  they'd 
done  to  the  Don  an'  skipper.  I  had  my  fears  about  'em, 
thinkin'  they  might  ha'  been  murdered,  as  Padilla  had 
proposed.  But  I  daren't  go  down  to  the  cabin  then,  lest 
they  might  shove  off,  an'  leave  us  in  the  lurch,  as  some 
war  threatenin'  to  do  ;  more  than  one  wantin'  it,  I  know. 
If  they'd  done  that — well,  it's  no  use  savin'  what 
might  ha'  been  the  upshot.  I  seed  'twould  'a  knocked 
all  my  plans  on  the  head,  an'  tharfor  hurried  down 
into  the  boat.  Then  we  rowed  right  away,  leavin' 
the  bark  just  as  she'd  been  the  whole  o'  that  da}T.  As 
we  pulled  shoreward,  we  could  see  her  standin'  off,  all 
sails  set,  same  as  tho'  the  crew  war  aboard  o'  her, 
workin'  'em." 


406  THE  FLAG   OF  DISTRESS. 

44  But  her  ensign  reversed?"  asks  Cadwallader 
-'  She  was  carrying  it  so  when  we  came  across  her 
How  came  that,  Harry  ?  ' ' 

"  Ah !  the  bit  o'  buntin'  upside  down  !  I  did  thai 
overnight  myself  in  the  dark,  thinkin'  it  might  get 
them  a  better  chance  o'  bein'  picked  up." 

"  And  }'OU  did  the  very  thing  !  "  exclaims  Crozief 
"  I  see  the  hand  of  Providence  in  that  surely !     But 
for  the  distress-signal,  the  '  Crusader '  would  have  kept 
on  without  giving  chase  ;  and  —     But  proceed  !     Tell 
us  what  happened  afterwards." 

"  Well,  we  landed  on  the  island,  not  knowin'  it  to 
be  a  island.  An'  theer's  another  o'  the  chances, 
showin'  we've  been  took  care  o'  1^  the  little  cherub  as 
sits  up  aloft.  Ift  hed  been  the  mainland  —  well,  I 
needn't  tell  ye  things  would  now  be  different.  Arter 
landin',  we  staid  all  night  on  the  shore;  the  men 
sleeping  in  the  biggest  o'  the  caves,  while  the  ladies 
occupied  a  smaller  one.  I  took  care  'bout  that  separa- 
tion u^self,  dctarmined  tlie}T  shouldn't  come  to  no 
harm  that  night.  There  war  a  thing  happened  which 
I  daresay  they've  told  you  ;  an'  'twar  from  them  I  after- 
wards larned  that  Gomez  an'  Hernandez  war  no  other 
than  the  two  chaps  you'd  trouble  wi'  at  San  Francisco. 
They  went  into  the  cave,  an'  said  some  insultin'  things 
to  the  saynereetas;  but  I  warn' t  fir  off,  an'  would  a 
made  short  work  wi'  them,  hed  it  goed  further  than 
tall?:.  Up  at  a  early  hour  next  niornin' ,  we  found  the 
boat  hed  drifted  off  seaward,  an'  got  bilged  on  the 
breakers.  But,  supposin'  we  shouldn't  want  her  anj 
more,  nobod}*  thought  an}-  thin'  about  it.  Then  corned 
the  dividin'  o'  the  gold-dus^.  an'  after  it  the  great  ques- 
tyun  —  leastwise,  so  far  as  I  war  consarned  —  as  to 
who  should  take  away  the  girls.     I'd   been  waitin'  f«n 


i 


A    STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  40T 

this  ;  an'  now,  for  the  settlin'  o't,  I  war  ready  to  do  or 
die.  Gomez  an'  Hernandez  war  the  two  who  laid  claim 
to  'em,  as  I  knowed,  an'  expected  they  would.  Pre- 
tendin'  a  likin'  for  Miss  Carmen  myself,  an'  puttin" 
Davis  up  to  what  I  wanted,  we,  too,  made  our  claim.  It 
ended  in  Gomez  an'  me  goin'  in  for  a  fight,  which 
must  'a  tarminated  in  the  death  o'  one  or  other  o'  us.  I 
hed  no  dread  o'  clyin',  onty  from  the  fear  o'  its  leavin' 
the  poor  creeturs  unprotected.  But  thar  war  no  help 
for't ;  an'  I  agreed  to  the  duel,  which  war  to  be  fought, 
first  wi'  pistols,  an'  finished  up,  if  need  be,  wi'  the 
steel.  Every  thin'  settled,  we  war  'bout  settin'.  to, 
when  one  o'  the  fellows  —  who'd  gone  up  the  cliff  to 
take  a  look  ahead  — just  then  sung  out  that  we'd 
landed  on  a  island.  Recallin'  the  lost  boat,  we  knew 
that  meant  a  drea'ful  danger.  In  coorse  it  stopped  the 
fight ;  an'  we  all  rushed  up  to  the  cliff.  When  we  saw 
how  things  stood,  there  war  no  more  talk  o'  quarellin'. 
The  piratical  scoundrels  war  scared  nigh  out  o'  thar 
senses,  an'  would  'a  been  glad  to  get  back  aboard  the 
craft  the}-'d  come  out  o'  ;  the  which  all,  'ceptin'  Davis 
an'  myself,  supposed  to  be  at  the  bottom  o'  the  sea. 
After  that,  'twar  all  safe,  as  far  as  consarned  the  sa}-- 
noreetas.  To  them  as  would  ha'  took  'em,  the}r  wai 
but  a  second  thought  in  the  face  o'  starvation,  which 
soon  xamed  the  wolves  down,  an'  kep  'em  so  till  the 
last  o'  the  chapter.  Now,  gentlemen,  ye  knoAv  how 
Harry  Blew  hav  behaved,  an'  can  judge  for  yourselves 
whether  lie's  kep  the  word  he  gied  3'ou  'fore  leavin'  San 
Francisco." 

"  Behaved  nobly,  grandly  !  *'  cries  Crozier.  "  Kept 
your  word  like  a  man,  like  a  true  British  sailor  !  Come 
to  my  arms,  to  my  heart,  Harry !  And  forgive  the 
suspicions  we  had,  not  being  able  to  help  them.    Here, 


408  THE  FLAG  OF  DISTRESS. 

Cad  !  Take  him  to  j-ours,  and  show  hira  how  grateful 
we  both  are  to  the  man  who  has  done  moie  for  us  than 
saving  our  lives." 

wt  Bless  you,  Blew!  God  bless  3-011 !  "  exclaims 
Cadwallader,  promptly  responding  to  the  appeal,  and 
holding  Harry  in  a  hug  that  threatens  to  strangle  him. 

The  affecting  scene  is  followed  by  an  interval  of  pro- 
found silence,  broken  03'  the  voice  of  Grummet,  who, 
at  the  wheel,  is  steering  straight  into  the  port  of  Pana- 
ma, now  in  sight. 

"Mr.  Crozier!  "  calls  out  the  old  cockswain,  "ye 
see  that  craft,  sir,  the  one  riding  at  anchor  out  3Ton- 
der  in  the  roadstead?  " 

All  turn  their  e3'es  in  the  direction  indicated ;  soon 
as  they  have  done  so,  together  exclaiming,  the 
"Crusader!  " 

The  last  scene  of  our  story  occurs  at  Cadiz,  in  a 
grand  cathedral  church.  Before  its  altar  stand  two 
English  naval  officers,  alongside  each  a  beautiful  Span- 
ish damsel,  soon  to  be  his  wedded  wife.  It  scarce 
needs  to  tell  that  the  bridegrooms  are  Edward  Crozier 
and  Willie  Cadwallader.  Nor  need  it  be  told  who  are 
the  brides,  since  the3T  are  to  be  given  away  by  Don 
Gregorio  Montijo.  Nor  is  it  necessaiy  to  describe  the 
ceremonial  splendor  of  that  double  wedding,  for  long 
time  the  great  topic  of  Cadiz.  Enough  to  say  that 
present  at  it  are  all  the  wealth  and  fashion  of  the  old 
Andalusian  city,  with  foreign  consuls,  and  the  com- 
manders of  war-ships  in  the  port,  conspicuous  amongst 
these,  Capt.  Bracebridge,  and  the  officers  of  H.B.M. 
frigate  "  Crusader."  Also  two  other  men  of  the  sea, 
—  of  its  merchant-service,  to  hear  of  whose  presence 
there  will  no  doubt  make  the  reader  happy,  as  it  does 


A   STORY   OF   THE   SOUTH   SEA.  409 

both  brides  and  bridegrooms  to  see  tlieni.  The)'  belong 
to  a  ship  lying  in  the  harbor,  carrying  polacca-masts, 
on  her  stern  lettered  "  El  Condor;"  one  of  the  two 
being  her  captain,  called  Lantanas,  the  other  her 
chief  officer,  byname  Blew.  The  good  fates  have  been 
fjst  and  kind  to  the  gentle  Chilian  skipper,  having 
k>ng  since  lifted  from  his  mind  the  cloud  that  tempora- 
rily obscured  it.  He  now  knows  all,  above  all,  Harry 
Blew  in  his  true  colors  ;  and  though  on  the  ' '  Condor's  ' ' 
deck  they  are  still  captain  and  mate,  when  below  by 
themselves  in  her  cabin,  all  distinction  of  rank  disap- 
pears, and  they  are  affectionate  friends,  almost  as 
brothers.  In  the  prosperous  trading-craft  "  Condor," 
reconverted  into  her  original  ship-rig,  regularly  voy- 
aging between  Valparaiso  and  Cadiz,  exchanging 
the  gold  and  silver  of  Chili  for  the  silks  and  sweet 
wines  of  Spain,  but  few  recognize  a  bark  once  chased 
over  the  South  Seas,  believed  to  be  a  spectre  ;  and  it 
is  to  be  hoped  no  one  will  ever  again  see  her  sailing 
ander  a  Flag  op  Distress. 


CAPTAIN    MAINE    REIB'S  WORKS. 

A  Set  of  Books  that  is  bound  to  give  untold  delight  to  boys  of  all  ages  is 
the  new  edition  of  the  works  of 

CAPTAIN  MAYNE  REID.  This  renowned  author,  whose  books  have 
sold  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands,  has  achieved  such  an  overwhelming 
success  for  the  reason  that  the  tendency  of  all  his  books  is  to  the  for- 
mation of  an  honorable  and  manly  character.  This  the  boys  appre- 
ciate, for  they  particularly  have  taken  him  to  their  hearts  ;  and  of  all 
writers  he  stands  first  in  their  affection.  No  writer  that  we  can  recall 
so  holds  the  reader's  attention,  whose  stories  are  of  such  breathless 
interest  and  distinguished  by  originality  of  design,  artistic  neatness  of 
construction,  and  perfect  style.  This  new  and  greatly  improved 
edition  of  his  works  is  printed  on  heavy,  beautiful  paper,  with 
numerous  artistic  drawings.  Altogether  it  is  a  charming  edition,  and 
a  model  of  what  boys'  books  should  be.     His  works  are  as  follows  : 

Afloat  in  the  Forest.  Cliff  Climbers.  Ocean  Waifs. 

Boy  Hunters.  Desert  Home.  Plant  Hunters. 

Boy  Slaves.  Flag  of  Distress.  Ran  Away  to  Sea. 

Boy  Tar.  Forest  Exiles.  Stories  About  Animals. 

Bruin.  Giraffe  Hunters.  Young  Voyagers. 

Bush  Boys.  Odd  People.  Young  Yagers. 

In  all  18  vols.,  beautiful  cloth,  in  box.  Published  price  $22.50.  Offered 
for  $15.50. 

BROWNING  (ELIZABETH  BARRETT).  Poetical  Works  of,  and  Life 
and  Letters.  Also  including  earlier  poems  not  contained  in  any  other 
edition.  7  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  $7.00.  Poetical  Works  of.  New  Edition, 
printed  on  good  paper,  large  margins,  5  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth  extra,  $5.00. 

AURORA  LEIGH.    By  Mrs.  Browning,     i  vol.,  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

OLD  MERCHANTS  OF  NEW  YORK.  By  J.  A.  Scoville  ("Walter 
Barrett").     Revised  edition.     5  vols.,  8vo,  gilt  top,  $10.00. 

YOUNG  FOLKS'  HISTORICAL  LIBRARY.  6  vols.,  i2mo.  Illustra- 
ted, $7.50. 

Young  Folks'  Historical  Tales,  Young  Folks'  Popular  Tales,  Young 
Folks'  Scottish  Tales,  Young  Folks' Tales  of  Adventure,  Young  Folks' 
Tales  of  Heroic  Deeds,  Young  Folks'  Tales  of  Sea  and  Land. 

YOUNG  FOLKS'  HISTORY  OF  THE  REBELLION.    By  William 
M.  Thayer.     Illustrated.     4  vols.,  nmo,  cloth,  $5.00. 
Fort  Sumter  to  Roanoke  Island   to  Murfreesboro,   Murfreesboro  to 

Fort  Pillow,  Fort  Pillow  to  the  end. 

A  very  graphic  and  faithful  History  of  the  late  Civil  War. 

WARE  (WILLIAM).  Works  of.  Embracing  "Zenobia ;  or,  The  Fall 
of  Palmyra";  "  Aurelian  ;  or,  Rome  in  the  Third  Century  "  (sequel  to 
"Zenobia");  "Julian;  or,  Scenes  in  Judea."  In  all  3  vols.,  i2mo, 
$4-50. 

APOCRYPHAL  NEW  TESTAMENT.     1  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  gi.25. 

FRIENDS  IN  COUNCIL.  By  Sir  Arthur  Helps.  A  series  of  Read- 
ings and  Discourses  thereon.     4  vols.,  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $4.00. 

A  THOUSAND  AND  ONE  GEMS.  By  E.  O.  Chapman,  lliustrated 
with  full-page  engravings,  with  red-line  border.  4to,  cloth,  gill 
edges,  $3.75. 


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4Feb'55Wts 
JUN2     195; 


LD  21-100m-l,'54(1887sl6)476 


M12544 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


